Howard  Brubake  r 


'ADMIT  ONE — 'AN  ILLUSTRATED  LECTURE  UPON  THE  EVILS 
OF  INTEMPERANCE'" 


Ranny 

otherwise 

Randolph  Harrington  Dulles 

A  tale  of  those  activities 
which  made  him  an  important 
figure  in  his  town,  in  his 
family — and  in  other  families 

by 
HOWARD  BRU BAKER 


with  illustrations  by 

F.  STROTHMANN 


HARPER  y  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK  AND  LONDON 


18885 


RANWY 

Copyright,  1917,  by   Harper  &   Brothers 

Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

Published  July,  1917 

F-B 


IB 

i 


* 

en 

CONTENTS 

co 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  RANNY  DISCOVERS  AMERICA i 

II.  THE  POWER  OF  THE  PRESS 20 

^      III.  AUNT  MARY,  PREFERRED 43 

*»     IV.  PARTY  LINES 66 

Qv  ^    V.  BOY  FINANCE 86 

VI.  A  FUGITIVE  FROM  INJUSTICE 109 

VII.  DIVIDING  UP 131 

VIII.  ENEMY  WANTED 151 

IX.  MALADY  AFORETHOUGHT 170 

"M      X.  BREAKING  OUT  OF  SOCIETY 188 

t\  '   , 

K     XI.  THE  BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 207 

XII.  THE  WAY  OF  THE  REFORMER 229 

XIII.  A  TAME  HERO 247 

XIV.  THE  INTEMPERATE  ZONE 266 

XV.  DAY  OF  WRATH 287 

XVI.  A  BABY'S  PLACE 306 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"ADMIT  ONE — 'AN  ILLUSTRATED  LECTURE  UPON  THE 

EVILS  OF  INTEMPERANCE'" Frontispiece 

"OuR  FARM  Is  SHAPED  LIKE  A  PIECE  OF  PIE"  .  .  Facing  p.  48 
BUD  WAS  Now  FOR  PERKINS  ON  THE  LEFT  SIDE  OF 

His  JACKET,  BUT  STOOD  WITH  CHANDLER  ON  THE 

RIGHT "  78 

JIMMY  GARVIN  WAS  ABOUT  NINETY  PER  CENT.  BOY, 

WITH  LITTLE  TASTE  FOR  BUSINESS "  114 

THE  RECIPIENTS  OF  SWEETNESS  DESERTED  RANNY  IN 

THIS  EXTREMITY "  142 

THEY  FELT  HIM  OVER  WITH  CHILLY  FINGERS  AND 

MADE  HIM  SHOW  His  TONGUE "  180 

THE  ONLY  LIGHT  IN  THE  GLOOM "  202 

HE  WOULD  TAKE  His  GLASSY  AND  His  TEN  CENTS  AND 

PLUNGE  INTO  INIQUITY "       244 


RANNY 


RANNY 


RANNY   DISCOVERS   AMERICA 

ON  a  Thursday  afternoon  late  in  May  the  United 
States  Government,  which  had  hovered  vaguely 
over  Ranny's  horizon  for  eight-going-on-nine  years, 
came  down  and  began  to  dabble  in  his  personal 
affairs.  This  was  amazing  conduct  on  the  part  of  a 
Government  which  was  something  like  a  flag  and 
the  Fourth  of  July  and  which  the  teacher  talked 
about  on  Washington's  Birthday.  Strangest  of  all, 
this  majestic  Government  revealed  itself  through 
the  trifling  person  of  Bud  Hicks,  a  contemporary  of 
Ranny's,  who  lived  right  there  in  Lakeville  and  who 
was  a  notoriously  poor  speller. 

Ranny  and  Bud  were  coming  home  from  school 
together,  but  because  the  grass  was  so  warm  and 
green  and  inviting  they  were  not  making  rapid 
progress, 

i 


RANNY 

Bud,  in  the  act  of  inverting  himself  and  standing 
on  his  hands,  dropped  some  valuables  out  of  his 
coat  pocket — a  piece  of  shoemaker's  wax,  two  moss 
agates — and  a  letter.  Before  Bud  could  get  back 
into  the  position  intended  by  nature,  Ranny  had 
seized  upon  the  letter.  It  was  duly  stamped,  can 
celed,  and  postmarked,  and  was  addressed,  miracu 
lously,  to  Mr.  Raymond  Hicks,  "Raymond"  being 
the  stylish  name  by  which  Bud  was  known  to  his 
mother  and  teacher. 

"Gimme  my  letter,"  Bud  commanded,  as  he 
gathered  up  his  other  treasures. 

"Where'd  you  get  it?"  asked  Ranny,  complying. 

"In  the  post-office." 

"  Yes,  you  did,"  Ranny  said,  respectfully. 

"I  bet  you  a  million  dollars!"  exclaimed  Bud,  add 
ing,  without  waiting  for  his  offer  to  be  accepted:  "I 
answered  a  ad.  in  a  magazine.  If  you  git  five 
'scriptions  you  git  a  air-gun."  In  proof  of  his 
statement  Bud  displayed  a  life-like  portrait  of  the 
weapon.  "Le's  go  an'  see  if  they  is  any  more 
mail." 

Ranny,  deeply  impressed,  assented.  He  had  often 
gone  to  the  post-office  on  pleasant  Sunday  mornings 
with  Father,  but  he  had  never  before  thought  of  the 
institution  as  having  any  direct  interest  to  boys. 

"Who  owns  the  post-office?"  he  asked,  as  they 
started  away. 


RANNY    DISCOVERS    AMERICA 

"Nobody  don't  own  it,  you  crazy,"  Bud  replied, 
scornfully.  "It  belongs  to  the  Gov'ment." 

"You  mean  the  Cover 'ment,"  said  Ranny,  glad  to 
find  a  rift  in  Bud's  armor.  Just  the  same,  he  felt  a 
respect  for  Bud  Hicks  which  he  would  never  before 
have  believed  possible.  Bud,  though  still  of  tender 
years,  had  a  letter  from  the  Government's  post- 
office;  it  had  his  name  on  it  and  a  stamp  with 
George  Washington's  picture.  It  seemed  to  Ranny 
that  in  some  mysterious  way  this  short,  curly-haired 
boy  had  joined  the  United  States,  while  he,  Randolph 
Harrington  Dukes,  was  still,  as  the  teacher  had  said 
on  the  day  he  spelled  the  great  President's  name 
"Lincon,"  a  kind  of  foreigner. 

There  was  no  mail  for  either  of  them  at  the  post- 
office,  and  the  man  in  the  window  winked  annoy  - 
ingly  over  their  heads  at  an  adult  who  stood  behind 
them ;  but  one  very  important  thing  happened.  In 
the  post-office  they  met  Tom  Rucker,  who  displayed 
a  letter  alleged  to  be  from  a  cousin  in  Manchester. 
So  it  seemed  that  Tom,  also,  was  on  speaking  terms 
with  the  Government.  Ranny  began  to  wonder  how 
far  this  thing  had  gone. 

"Does  ever'body  get  letters  in  the  post-office?" 
he  asked,  as  he  and  his  companion  were  setting  out 
for  home. 

"Sure  they  do,"  Bud  replied.  "Except  Chiny- 
men;  they  can't  read."  This  last  remark  was  sug- 

3 


RANNY 

gested  by  the  sight  of  the  Chinese  laundry  which  they 
were  passing. 

"Chinymen  eats  rats,"  said  Ranny,  and  by  a  mu 
tual  impulse  they  slipped  around  to  the  side  window 
of  the  laundry  and  peeked  in,  as  they  had  often 
done  before,  half  hoping,  half  fearing  that  they 
might  find  the  Chinaman  preparing  his  favorite  dish. 
When  the  laundryman  caught  sight  of  them  they 
ran  very  fast,  because  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that 
Chinamen  cut  off  boys'  ears. 

But  though  post-offices,  governments,  and  China 
men  were  for  the  time  forgotten  in  the  joy  of  stealing 
a  ride  on  the  back  of  Alleston's  delivery-wagon  and 
the  rapture  of  being  chased  off,  these  matters  weighed 
heavily  on  Ranny 's  mind  when  he  reached  home. 
He  had  an  impulse  to  ask  Mother  a  few  questions, 
but  she  seemed  to  be  too  busy  with  the  baby  and  the 
supper  to  give  out  information  upon  affairs  of  state. 
By  six-o'clock-whistle  time,  when,  with  face  and 
hands  washed  and  hair  pasted  down,  he  sat  on  the 
front  porch  waiting  for  Father  to  come  home  from 
the  factory,  he  had  firmly  resolved  that  by  some 
means  he  must  have  a  letter  from  the  post-office  and 
get  in  touch  with  the  Government.  He  would  speak 
to  Father  without  delay.  Father  knew  all  about  the 
Government;  he  himself  had  heard  Father  tell  Mr. 
Jennings  that  the  Government  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  interests. 

4 


RANNY    DISCOVERS    AMERICA 

So  absorbed  was  Ranny  with  his  new  idea  that 
before  he  knew  it,  Father,  pretending  not  to  know  it 
was  the  right  house,  had  walked  past  the  gate  and 
had  to  be  scampered  after  and  brought  back.  As 
Ranny  held  fast  to  Father's  hard,  knotty  hand  and 
tried  to  match  his  long-legged  strides,  he  realized 
that  the  present  was  no  time  for  questions,  because 
when  Mother  with  a  white  apron  on  is  in  the  doorway 
waiting  to  be  kissed,  Father's  conversation  is  apt  to 
be  sketchy  and  unsatisfactory. 

Not  until  supper  was  over,  and  Father  in  his  rock 
ing-chair  on  the  front  porch  had  begun  to  hold  the 
evening  paper  close  to  his  eyes  in  the  thickening 
dusk,  did  Ranny  feel  that  the  time  was  ripe  to  put 
his  new  idea  into  words.  He  was  seated  on  the  floor 
by  the  step  where  he  could  reach  over  at  any  time 
and  pull  Father's  trousers  leg  for  dramatic  emphasis. 

"Bud  Hicks  got  a  letter,"  he  said  by  way  of  open 
ing  the  conversation  with  a  bang. 

Father  grunted  in  that  annoying  way  adults  have 
of  answering  without  paying  attention. 

"It's  about  a  air-gun,"  Ranny  continued. 

That  weapon  brought  Father's  paper  down  at 
once. 

"No  air-guns,  Ranny,"  he  said;  "they're  danger 
ous.  I'll  make  you  a  gun  out  of  a  broomstick." 
Thereupon  he  closed  the  interview  by  raising  the 
paper  again. 

5 


RANNY 

Ranny,  seeing  that  the  conversation  had  gone 
astray,  made  a  desperate  effort  to  recover  it. 

"Father,"  he  said,  with  a  tug  at  the  "emphasizer," 
"I  wish  I—" 

"Randolph!" 

Father  seldom  resorted  to  the  stern  form  of  the 
name,  and  now  that  he  did,  Ranny  stood  unjustly 
convicted  of  the  high  crime  of  teasing.  Apparently 
this  was  one  of  those  problems  that  had  to  be  worked 
out  without  the  aid  of  parents. 

Remembering  Bud's  route  to  citizenship,  Ranny 
went  into  the  sitting-room  to  see  if  there  was  some 
magazine  that  would  be  of  help.  But  the  only 
periodical  which  the  Dukes  home  contained,  upon 
examination,  was  The  Wagon  Maker,  a  publication 
which  Father  seemed  to  find  interesting,  but  which 
offered  no  aid  in  the  present  crisis.  True,  it  con 
tained  an  advertisement  of  real  estate  near  Long 
Island  Sound,  but  a  haziness  upon  the  meaning  of 
real  estate  made  it  seem  best  not  to  "write  for 
particulars."  Better  abandon  the  magazine  idea  en 
tirely,  he  thought,  than  to  run  the  risk  of  landing 
himself,  and  perhaps  Father  and  Mother  and  the 
baby,  in  prison. 

In  the  quiet  darkness  of  his  room  that  night,  Ranny 
tossed  to  and  fro  on  an  uneasy  bed,  wide-eyed,  gazing 
on  the  goal  of  his  desire.  He  could  think  of  no 
cousins  in  Manchester  or  elsewhere  who  would  send 

6 


RANNY    DISCOVERS    AMERICA 

letters  to  him;  it  would  be  years  before  the  baby 
would  be  of  letter-writing  age.  Sleep  put  an  end  to 
these  reflections,  but  day  streaming  through  his  win 
dow  brought  an  inspiration.  At  the  noon  hour  he 
hastened  to  Bud  Hicks  for  co-operation. 

"I  tell  you  what  le's  do,"  he  said.  "You  write  a 
letter  to  me  an'  I'll  write  a  letter  to  you.  We'll  mail 
'em  in  the  post-office." 

"I  'ain't  got  no  money,"  Bud  replied. 

"I  could  get  four  cents  easy,"  Ranny  said,  boast 
fully. 

However,  Bud,  clinging  to  his  monopoly,  refused 
to  have  a  part  in  any  such  plan. 

"They  wouldn't  be  reg'lar  letters,"  he  said,  fond 
ling  his  own  grimy  and  desirable  envelope. 

"Aw,"  said  Ranny,  "you  think  you're  smart  with 
your  dirty  old  letter."  The  interview  degenerated 
into  an  exchange  of  sticks  and  small  stones  as  they 
went  their  separate  ways. 

In  his  search  for  another  correspondent  that 
afternoon  Ranny  met  with  nothing  but  discourage 
ment  and  ridicule.  "Fatty"  Hartman,  who  sat 
across  the  aisle,  was  not  interested  in  his  Govern 
ment  at  all. 

"You  could  tell  it  to  me,"  he  said,  inanely,  in 
reply  to  the  proposal.  "Why  should  you  write  me 
a  letter?" 

At  recess- time   "Fatty"  told  the  joke    to   Bud 

2  7 


RANNY 

Hicks,  who  repeated  it  to  most  of  the  other  boys 
in  the  class  amid  widespread  snickering. 

"He's  only  trying  to  copy  after  me,"  said  Bud, 
displaying  his  own  poor  apology  for  a  letter. 

Tom  Rucker,  whose  humor  always  took  a  prac 
tical  turn,  increased  the  general  hilarity  by  pouring 
water  down  Ranny's  neck.  After  school  there  were 
further  persecutions.  Bud,  suddenly  remembering 
the  conversation  of  the  previous  day,  advanced  the 
theory  that  Ranny  was  a  Chinaman.  The  other 
boys  adopted  it  gleefully,  and  the  crowd  that  was 
gathered  about  a  marble  game  in  the  open  space 
back  of  the  brick  church  greeted  him  as  "pig 
tail."  As  Ranny  slipped  away,  he  heard  one  boy 
call  out,  "He's  goin'  home  to  eat  rats." 

That  night  after  supper  Ranny  sat  on  the  front 
step  in  deep  despondency.  He  seemed  farther  from 
his  patriotic  goal  than  ever;  there  was  not  a  boy 
in  the  class  who  would  write  him  a  letter  now. 
Mother  came  out  of  the  house  and  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  sank  to  the  step  by  his  side  and  laid  a  tired 
hand  upon  his  own.  Putting  away  the  paper  and 
lighting  a  cigar,  Father  became  human  and  jovial. 
An  electric  light  on  the  corner  came  to  life  with  a 
hiss,  and  Mother  pointed  out  how  beautifully  it 
glowed  through  the  green  of  the  new  leaves.  A 
young  girl  chattered  somewhere  in  the  shadows,  just 
as  girls  do  on  the  way  home  from  school. 

8 


RANNY    DISCOVERS    AMERICA 

Suddenly  a  desperate  thought  came  to  Ranny—- 
why  not  exchange  letters  with  a  girl?  Of  course  he 
would  not  dare  to  show  the  contents  of  the  envelope 
to  anybody,  but  surely  it  would  be  better  to  have  a 
letter  from  a  girl  than  never  to  get  into  Government 
circles  at  all. 

The  next  day  he  took  the  matter  up  with  Josie 
Kendal,  who  sat  in  front  of  him.  Except  when 
he  pulled  her  hair,  Josie  always  listened  to  him 
and  laughed  at  his  jokes.  Josie's  writing  was 
queer  and  she  probably  cared  nothing  about  the 
Government,  but  the  time  for  being  particular  had 
passed. 

"Say,  Josie,"  he  whispered,  "if  I  write  you  a  letter, 
will  you  write  me  a  letter?" 

Josie  giggled,  but  did  not  commit  herself. 

"I  mean  reg'lar  letters  in  the  post-office,"  Ranny 
went  on,  "with  stamps  an'  ever'thing." 

Josie  turned  around  and  looked  at  him  with  serious 
inquiry  in  her  blue  eyes.  "What  should  I  write  to 
you,  Ranny?"  she  asked. 

"Josie,  turn  around,  please!"  Miss  Mills  said, 
sharply,  to  the  great  amusement  of  "Fatty"  Hart- 
man. 

"I'll  write  you  a  letter,"  Ranny  whispered,  when 
conversation  seemed  safe  once  more,  "and  you  can 
answer  it." 

Josie  bobbed  her  pigtails  in  assent. 

9 


RANNY 

Ranny  hurried  home  that  afternoon  so  fast  that 
when  he  arrived  there  Mother  said,  "My  gracious!" 
and  looked  at  the  clock. 

"Mother,"  said  Ranny,  "I  wish  you'd  give  me 
two  cents." 

"What  do  you  want  it  for?"  Mother  asked. 

"Oh,  sumpin',"  he  replied,  fumbling  with  a  button 
on  his  coat. 

After  searching  through  some  coins  in  a  baking- 
powder  can,  Mother  produced  the  required  amount. 
Putting  the  pennies  in  his  pocket,  Ranny  went  to 
the  writing-desk  in  the  sitting-room  and  got  an 
envelope,  a  tablet,  and  a  pencil.  At  last  he  stood 
face  to  face  with  the  problem  that  had  been  giving 
him  trouble  all  day.  What  should  he  write  to 
Josie?  None  of  the  usual  remarks  about  "Fatty" 
Hartman's  fatness  or  the  teacher's  crossness  or  Josie's 
pigtails  and  freckles  seemed  suited  to  the  demands 
of  that  great  mysterious  Government.  But  as  he 
stood  reflectively  chewing  his  pencil,  suddenly  the 
whole  difficulty  was  cleared  away.  On  a  shelf  in 
the  combination  bookcase-desk,  between  The  Story 
of  Man  and  The  Treasury  of  Golden  Thoughts,  was  a 
volume  that  showed  you  how  to  do  everything 
properly.  In  this  hitherto  useless  book  were  letters 
already  written  out;  Ranny  had  only  to  copy  one, 
sign  his  name  to  it,  and  mail  it  to  Josie.  To  avoid 
questions  he  withdrew  with  his  task  to  the  "secret 

10 


RANNY    DISCOVERS     AMERICA 

den,"  which  parents  and  other  ill-informed  adults 
spoke  of  as  the  woodshed. 

This  structure,  which  adjoined  the  kitchen,  did, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  contain  wood,  also  a  tool-bench, 
a  discarded  bedstead,  and  the  remains  of  a  clock. 
In  one  corner  there  was  a  small  inclosure  constructed 
of  boxes  by  father's  help  and  devoted  to  Ranny's 
own  purposes.  Sometimes  it  was  a  robber's  cave, 
sometimes  a  drug-store,  and  it  was  always  a  picture- 
gallery  for  color  work  of  a  humorous  nature.  To-day 
it  looked  like  one  of  those  advertisements  which  in 
vite  you  to  "study  drawing  at  home";  for  Ranny 
had  hit  upon  a  fine  device.  One  letter  in  the  book 
was  printed  in  script,  and  he  was  tracing  it  with  a 
lead-pencil  over  a  carbon  paper  that  had  come  with 
his  Christmas  drawing-set.  The  result  revealed 
Ranny  as  a  flawless  penman  and  an  inveterate  letter- 
writer — except  for  the  signature  and  the  address  on 
the  envelope.  He  would  try  to  get  down  to  the 
post-office  and  mail  the  letter  at  noon  the  next  day; 
for  the  evening  he  had  nothing  to  do  except  to  reach 
into  his  pocket  from  time  to  time  to  see  that  the 
letter  was  safe. 

The  next  forenoon,  just  by  way  of  assuring 
Josie  that  everything  was  going  along  without  a 
hitch,  he  poked  her  respectfully  in  the  back  and 
gave  her  a  glimpse  of  the  envelope,  concealed 
from  the  public  gaze  by  the  covers  of  his  geog- 

ii 


RANNY 

raphy.  Josie  giggled  gratifyingly  and  put  back 
her  hand. 

"Let  me  look  at  it,"  she  whispered. 

Ranny  started  to  comply,  keeping  his  eye  on  the 
teacher,  but  at  this  moment  Bud  Hicks,  who  was 
evidently  watching  the  proceedings,  gave  an  ap 
preciative  cough.  The  teacher's  eye  swept  over 
the  room.  Josie,  alarmed,  withdrew  her  hand, 
and  the  letter  fell  into  the  aisle.  Ranny  dropped 
back  into  the  position  of  one  deeply  concerned 
about  the  Orinoco  River,  but  the  teacher  was 
beside  his  desk  in  an  instant,  asking  him  to  pick 
up  the  letter. 

"Did  you  write  that,  Randolph?"  Miss  Mills 
asked,  noting  the  address. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  with  a  sinking  heart. 

"Did  you  write  to  him  first,  Josie?" 

Josie's  braids  bobbed  emphatic  denial,  and  she 
looked  at  Ranny  as  though  she  had  never  before 
noticed  that  he  sat  behind  her. 

Ranny  had  a  fleeting  fear  that  Miss  Mills  was  going 
to  open  the  letter ;  a  moment  later  he  was  sorry  she 
had  not.  It  is  doubtful  if  anybody  but  a  teacher 
could  have  thought  of  the  scheme  that  she  imme 
diately  unfolded. 

"Miss  Kendal,"  she  said,  with  an  ironical  bow, 
"this  is  your  letter.  Please  open  it  and  copy  it  in 
full  on  the  blackboard.  The  gentleman  who  thinks 

12 


RANNY    DISCOVERS     AMERICA 

this  is  a  post-office  will  kindly  stay  after  school  and 
learn  better." 

Ranny  heard  a  muffled  snicker  back  of  him  some 
where  and  felt  his  ears  growing  hot.  He  had  a 
sensation  as  of  eyes  sticking  into  him  from  all  direc 
tions,  and  he  knew  that  to  meet  "Fatty"  Hartman's 
gaze  would  be  disastrous.  He  wished  he  was  out  in 
the  open  air;  he  wished  he  had  a  drink  of  water. 

Finally  Josie  finished  her  task  and  was  allowed 
to  take  her  seat.  Ranny  had  a  new  sinking  of  the 
heart  when  he  realized  how  his  work  had  suffered 
from  Josie's  ruinous  scrawl.  Miss  Mills,  who  had 
been  busy  suppressing  outbreaks  of  lawlessness,  now 
read  the  message  over,  wrinkling  up  her  brows  in 
perplexity.  The  letter  was  as  follows : 

DEAR  SIR, — Your  esteemed  favor  of  the  seventh  inst.  at  hand, 
and  in  reply  will  state  that  we  have  this  day  forwarded  to 
your  address  the  following  mdse.,  for  which  we  hand  you  invoices 
herewith,  subject  to  5  per  cent.  10  days  or  4  per  cent.  30  days. 

9  bbls.  flour  No.  76 

1 8  cwt.  lime 

i  hgd.  Orleans  molasses 

100  Ibs.  leaf  lard. 

Thanking  you  for  your  valued  order  and  anticipating  a  con 
tinuance  of  your  patronage,  we  beg  to  remain, 

Yours  very  respectfully, 
RANDOLPH  HARRINGTON  DUKES. 

Upon  reading  this  letter  Miss  Mills  was  seized  with 
a  violent  fit  of  coughing  and  had  to  take  refuge  in  a 
handkerchief  and  a  glass  of  water.  To  Ranny  this 


RANNY 

was  a  welcome  reprieve,  as  though  he  had  arrived 
at  the  dentist's  and  found  him  occupied  with 
another  patient. 

"You  may  give  me  that  letter,  Josie,"  she  said  at 
last.  "The  children  will  please  remember  that  this 
is  not  the  place" — another  cough — "for  business 
transactions.  The  class  in  geography!" 

That  ordeal  over,  Ranny  began  to  hope  that  the 
interview  at  noon  might  also  pass  without  physical 
violence.  At  any  rate,  he  thought,  as  the  other 
pupils  filed  out  with  grins  in  his  direction,  he  would 
escape  the  scoffing  public  opinion  in  the  street  below. 

Miss  Mills's  first  question  as  she  leaned  against 
"Fatty"  Hartman's  desk  and  looked  down  upon 
Ranny  with  searching,  puzzled  eyes  was  reassuring. 

"Where  did  you  write  this  letter,  Ranny?" 

"At  home." 

"But  this  isn't  your  handwriting,"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  looked  at  the  contents  of  the  envelope  for  the 
first  time. 

Ranny  enlightened  her  as  to  the  carbon-paper 
device. 

"And  you  brought  it  to  school  to  give  it  to  Josie?" 

"I  was  going  to  take  it  to  the  post-office,"  he 
explained,  laboriously  producing  two  cents  as  proof. 
Even  now,  in  one  of  life's  crises,  he  found  himself 
wondering  whether  it  wouldn't  be  well  to  spend  the 
money  for  all-day  suckers. 

14 


RANNY     DISCOVERS     AMERICA 

"Ranny,"  said  the  teacher,  "you  are  telling  me  the 
truth  I  know;  but  why  did  you  want  to  write  to 
Josie  ?  Is  she — 

Ranny  recognized  the  silly  adult  idea  from  afar 
and  forestalled  it. 

"I  want  to  get  a  letter  from  the  post-office  and 
Josie  said  she  would  answer,"  he  said,  earnestly.  "I 
want  to  belong  to  the  Cover 'ment  like  Washington 
an'  Lincoln.  I  never  get  any  letters.  You  said  I 
was  a  foreigner  an'  the  boys  call  me  Chinyman  an' 
ever 'thing." 

The  teacher  seemed  at  last  to  understand.  She 
dismissed  him  with  the  confusing  impression  that  he 
had  not  done  anything  wrong,  but  that  he  mustn't  do 
it  again.  Just  as  he  was  leaving  the  room  he  looked 
back,  and  there  was  Miss  Mills  at  her  desk,  her  face 
very  serious  as  she  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  window. 

This  scene  was  but  the  foretaste  of  a  long,  hard, 
painful  afternoon.  "Fatty"  Hartman,  whenever 
the  teacher's  back  was  turned,  made  violent  mo 
tions  as  of  one  writing  letters.  Once  Bud  Hicks  suc 
ceeded  in  catching  his  eye  with  a  libelous  caricature 
on  his  slate,  labeled,  "Ranny  and  Josie."  That 
young  person  was  scornful ;  to  a  friendly  tug  on  her 
hair  she  responded  by  elevating  her  stubby  nose  and 
pulling  her  braids  over  her  shoulder  to  safety,  in 
forming  a  gleeful  world  that  her  latch-string  was  no 
longer  out  to  Randolph  Harrington  Dukes.  The  long 

15 


RANNY 

school  day  expired  in  gloom.  He  had  tried  every 
thing  and  failed.  He  might  have  been  a  Spaniard, 
for  all  the  good  the  United  States  was  to  him. 

Leaving  the  other  boys  at  the  school-yard  gate, 
Ranny  set  off  for  home  through  Carrington's  alley. 
But  his  tormentors  were  not  to  be  evaded  so  easily. 

"Hey,  Ranny,  there  goes  your  girl!"  he  heard  Bud 
call  out.  Bud,  followed  by  a  number  of  trouble- 
seekers,  caught  up  with  Ranny  at  the  intersection  of 
the  two  alleys.  Clenching  his  fists,  Ranny  turned 
and  faced  his  enemy. 

' '  Aw,  let  me  alone !"  he  said.  ' '  What's  the  matter 
with  you?" 

Bud,  encouraged  by  the  shouts  of  the  boys  behind 
him,  ignored  the  threatening  attitude  and  crowded 
up  close. 

"Pigtail  Chinyman,"  he  said,  tauntingly. 

Nobody  was  more  surprised  at  what  followed  than 
Ranny  himself;  his  fist  flew  out  and  landed  solidly 
on  Bud's  chin.  As  if  encouraged  by  its  partner's 
success,  the  other  fist  traveled  straight  to  Bud's 
stomach.  In  the  next  instant  Ranny  found  himself 
lying  flat  upon  his  prostrate  enemy. 

"Pull  'im  off,  kids,"  Bud  gasped,  but  nobody 
moved;  Bud's  side  of  the  controversy  seemed  sud 
denly  to  have  grown  unpopular. 

"One  fella  at  a  time,"  said  "Fatty"  Hartman. 

Ranny  pressed  one  hand,  not  gently,  over  Bud's 

16 


RANNY    DISCOVERS     AMERICA 

face  and  with  the  other  succeeded  in  reaching  the 
letter  in  Bud's  pocket.  Thereupon,  still  sitting  se 
curely  upon  Bud's  wriggling  form,  he  stowed  the 
letter  away  in  his  own  pocket. 

"Whose  a  Chinyman  now?"  Ranny  asked. 

"Let  me  up,"  Bud  sputtered,  in  a  tone  of  sur 
render. 

Ranny  released  his  beaten  foe,  took  the  cap  that 
Tom  Rucker  handed  him,  and  let  "Fatty"  Hartman 
brush  some  dust  off  his  knee.  Nobody  called  him 
names  now. 

"It's  all  right  for  you!"  Bud  said,  as  he  started  off 
alone.  All  the  other  boys  laughed. 

But  when  the  excitement  was  over  and  Ranny 
sat  alone  in  the  "secret  den"  his  depression  returned. 
He  had  disposed  of  Bud  Hicks  and  stopped  the  jeer 
ing,  but  he  was  just  as  far  from  being  a  good  Amer 
ican  as  ever.  The  "secret  den"  presently  changed 
to  a  drug-store,  wabbled  awhile  between  a  robber's 
cave  and  a  picture-gallery,  and  ended — sure  sign  of  a 
disordered  universe — as  a  plain  woodshed. 

The  six-o'clock  whistle  was  a  welcome  sound  that 
evening,  and  when  the  paternal  cap  appeared,  bob 
bing  up  and  down  along  Webber's  picket  fence, 
Ranny  was  down  the  path  like  an  arrow.  But 
Father,  curiously,  did  not  boost  him  to  his  shoulder 
or  pull  the  too-big  cap  down  over  Ranny's  ears. 
Instead,  he  acted  strangely,  stopping  and  gazing 

17 


RANNY 

thoughtfully  at  the  house,  more  like  a  tall,  thin 
book-agent  than  a  father. 

"Young  man,"  he  said,  "perhaps  you  can  tell 
me  where  I  can  find  a  person  by  the  name  of" — 
here  he  consulted  an  envelope  that  he  had  drawn 
from  his  pocket — "Randolph  Harrington  Dukes?" 

With  a  wild  half-hope  Ranny  flashed  an  inquiry 
up  at  Father's  face  and  pounced  upon  the  envelope. 
It  came  upon  him  in  a  burst  of  glory — stamp,  post 
mark,  and,  in  a  handwriting  that  was  faintly  fa 
miliar,  strange  and  wonderful  in  their  new  dignity, 
the  words,  "Randolph  Harrington  Dukes,  City." 

Clasping  the  letter  tightly,  he  went  dancing  and 
skipping  up  the  path  to  bring  Mother  the  joyful 
news.  She  came  out  of  the  house  wiping  her  hands 
on  her  apron  so  that  she  might  examine  the  letter. 
Instead  of  getting  ready  for  supper,  Father  sat  down 
and  looked  expectant.  It  was  the  general  opinion 
that  the  letter  should  be  opened,  so  Ranny  intrusted 
it  to  Father,  who  read  in  his  best  "company  "  tone : 

"DEAR  RANNY, — When  vacation  begins  next  Thursday  I 
shall  be  packing  my  trunk  to  go  away.  I  want  you,  if  you  can, 
to  come  to  my  boarding-house  in  the  morning  and  run  some 
errands  for  me.  Then  maybe  you  will  help  about  my  plan. 
I  am  looking  for  a  bright  American  boy  about  eight  years  old 
who  writes  a  good  hand  and  knows  about  Washington  and 
Lincoln  to  exchange  letters  with  me  this  summer.  I  have  lots  of 
stamps.  Maybe  you  would  like  to  do  it.  I  am  going  first  to 
Washington,  where  the  Government,  is  and  I  will  write  you  a 
letter  from  there.  Your  Friend," 

18 


RANNY     DISCOVERS     AMERICA 

Here  Father  pretended  that  he  could  not  make  out 
the  signature  and  asked  for  the  loan  of  Mother's 
eyes.  Ranny  had  to  bombard  Father's  knee  to  get 
the  letter.  It  was  signed  by — "Edith  Mills." 

Randolph  Harrington  Dukes,  City,  sat  on  the  gate 
post  after  supper,  dangling  bare  white  legs  and  ruling 
over  a  smiling  June  universe.  Foremost  in  his 
thoughts  was  the  United  States  Government,  fa 
thered  by  Washington,  saved  by  Lincoln,  and  now 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  interests.  He  would 
have  to  ask  Father  about  the  interests  one  of  these 
days ;  in  fact,  there  were  many  things  he  would  have 
to  learn  about  the  Government — now. 

"I'll  give  Bud  back  his  letter  to-morrow,"  he  said 
to  himself,  "an'  show  him  mine." 

The  level  rays  of  the  setting  sun  touched  the  new 
green  leaves  with  flame,  splashed  liquid  gold  upon 
the  bowed  bare  head  of  the  wondering  little  boy. 
His  eyes  rested  proudly  upon  the  breast  pocket  of  his 
faded  blue  jacket;  there  it  gleamed  where  all  the 
passing  world  might  see,  his  badge  of  citizenship,  a 
white  envelope  and  a  red  stamp. 

"Red,  white,  an'  blue,"  said  Ranny,  with  a  pa 
triotic  thrill  at  the  discovery.  "It's  sumpin'  like  the 
Fourth  of  July." 


II 

THE   POWER   OF   THE   PRESS 

CHOOL  had  closed  and  the  teacher  had  started 
off  upon  her  summer  of  letter- writing  and  travel. 
Ranny  sat  on  the  front  porch,  the  evening  paper  on 
his  knees,  and,  as  one  in  the  grasp  of  a  new  idea, 
meditatively  rubbed  a  grimy  toe  against  a  brown, 
mosquito-bitten  ankle. 

"Nobody  never  told  me,"  he  thought,  "that  a 
little,  small  fella  could  have  his  name  printed  in  the 
paper." 

Ranny  was  dimly  aware  that  Mother  had  called 
out  from  the  house  requesting  a  pitcher  of  water  for 
supper,  also  that  it  was  high  time  that  he  was  at 
the  front  gate  ready  to  tow  Father  through  the 
perilous  shoals.  But  these  duties  were  put  over 
into  unfinished  business — in  the  puzzling  world  of 
eight-going-on-nine  it  is  safest  to  stick  to  one  thing 
until  it  is  settled.  So  Ranny  raised  the  paper  and, 
this  time  with  comparative  ease,  read  over  the 
amazing  item : 

Clarence  Raleigh,  son  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  F.  Raleigh, 
entertained  seven  of  his  playmates  yesterday  afternoon  at  his 

20 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

home  on  North  Elm  Street,  it  being  the  occasion  of  his  eighth 
birthday.  Delicious  refreshments  were  served.  The  little  fel 
lows  report  a  very  enjoyable  time. 

This  chance  discovery,  the  result  of  idly  glancing 
at  the  Evening  Bulletin  while  waiting  for  Father  to 
come  home,  set  Ranny's  ideas  topsy-turvy.  Clar 
ence  Raleigh  had  never  seemed  to  him  a  very  im 
portant  boy;  he  was  a  poor  "wrastler,"  and  the 
teacher's  pet,  and  he  wore  shoes  in  the  summer 
time.  Now,  suddenly,  he  had  leaped  into  fame.  The 
next  time  Ranny  went  along  Elm  Street  maybe 
Clarence  would  be  sitting  out  in  front  and  would  say, 
"Hello,  Ranny!"  and  he  would  answer,  "Hello!" 
and  Clarence  would  say,  "Did  you  see  my  name  in 
the  paper?"  Clarence  would  put  on  airs  as  if  he 
had  broken  his  leg  like  Tinny  Malone  or  got  a  job 
sweeping  out  the  First  National  Bank  like  Arthur 
Wilson. 

If  it  is  true  that  the  life  of  the  growing  child 
reproduces  the  history  of  the  race,  Ranny  ar 
rived  on  that  late  afternoon  in  June  at  the  age 
of  publicity. 

Father  came  into  port  under  his  own  steam  and 
promptly  joined  in  inviting  his  son  to  get  water. 
As  a  matter  of  form  Ranny  sat  down  with  his  parents 
at  supper,  but  he  had  no  interest  in  commonplace 
proceedings;  in  fact,  he  was  so  preoccupied  that  he 
declined  a  second  helping  of  bread  and  jelly. 

21 


RANNY 

"What's  the  matter,  Ranny?"  asked  Father. 
"Are  you  sick?" 

"Clarence  Raleigh  had  a  party,"  the  boy  replied. 
"His  name's  in  the  paper." 

"Did  you  eat  too  much  cake?" 

"Tom!"  exclaimed  Mother,  reproachfully,  and 
Father  put  his  hand  over  his  mouth.  Mother,  being 
a  woman,  made  a  different  kind  of  mistake  entirely. 

"Don't  mind,  dear,"  she  said.  "We  don't  get 
invited  to  Mrs.  Raleigh's  parties,  either." 

"His  name's  in  the  paper,"  Ranny  declared,  ear 
nestly.  "I  read  it." 

"They  should  never  have  taught  this  boy  to 
read,"  said  Father,  with  a  tremendous  wink;  "he'll 
be  wanting  to  go  to  everything  now." 

Ranny  saw  that  he  must  work  out  this  newspaper 
problem  alone.  Now  that  the  Evening  Bulletin  had 
ceased  to  confine  itself  to  the  footless  affairs  of 
grown-ups,  he  would  have  to  give  it  a  share  of  his 
attention;  he  had  never  before  thought  it  of  any 
value  except  for  making  kites.  He  would  have  begun 
his  researches  at  once,  only  Father,  according  to  his 
custom,  read  the  paper  on  the  front  porch  until  the 
light  failed. 

But  the  next  morning,  as  soon  as  he  had  fed  his 
guinea-pigs,  Ranny  adjourned  to  the  "secret  den" 
and  studied  the  public  prints. 

There  was,  of  course,  much  in  the  Evening  Bulletin 

22 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

that  was  utter  waste  of  paper — vague,  useless  things 
about  politics  and  war  and  courts  and  business, 
puzzling  big  words  and  untalkable  English.  The 
personal  column,  on  the  other  hand,  was  human  and 
interesting;  it  suggested  so  many  ways  of  getting 
one's  name  into  print.  Clarence,  of  course,  had 
adopted  an  excellent  method,  with  his  seven  little 
playmates  and  his  delicious  refreshments.  Ranny 
cut  out  this  item  and  pinned  it  on  the  wall.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Wheelock  had  done  almost  as  well  by  be 
coming  the  parents  of  an  infant  daughter.  W.  H. 
Adams  had  indulged  in  the  doubtful  pleasure  of  a 
fire  that  was  prevented  from  becoming  serious  only 
by  the  prompt  use  of  a  bucket  of  water.  Mrs. 
James  Barton  had  got  into  print  by  being  seriously 
ill.  There  were  a  number  of  toothsome  items  about 
the  fine  things  to  eat  that  were  for  sale  at  Alleston's 
grocery.  Also  the  paper  frequently  remarked  that 
Webber  was  a  reliable  druggist ;  this  was  interesting 
because  Mr.  Webber  lived  only  two  doors  from 
Ranny 's  house  and  had  a  dog  that  barked  but 
didn't  bite. 

The  royal  road  to  publicity,  however,  was  un 
doubtedly  the  C.  M.  and  W.  No  other  device  was 
so  common  or  so  delightful  as  going  somewhere  on 
the  train,  or  coming  back.  Note  a  few  examples  in 
this  one  issue:  Mrs.  George  Frazer  and  little  son 
were  visiting  friends  in  Marion;  James  H.  Hight 

3  23 


RANNY       

had  left  for  Cincinnati  on  business ;  Mrs.  Something- 
or-other  that  was  hard  to  pronounce  was  visiting 
her  daughter,  Mrs.  H.  K.  Jones — easy  notoriety  for 
Mrs.  Jones! 

"If  I  wanted  to  get  my  name  in  the  paper,"  said 
Ranny,  who  could  always  talk  to  himself  safely  in 
the  "secret  den,"  "I'd  go  somewheres  on  the  train." 

This  thought  suggested  a  diversion  he  seldom  per 
mitted  himself,  because  it  was  unpopular  with 
Mother.  Securing  his  wide  straw  hat  unostenta 
tiously  from  behind  the  kitchen  door  and  leaving  by 
the  alley  gate,  he  set  out  for  the  railway  station,  re 
solved  to  see  what  fellow-townsmen  were  laying  up 
treasures  for  themselves  in  the  evening  paper.  The 
court-house  clock  striking  eleven  assured  him  that 
he  would  be  in  plenty  of  time  for  the  11.23,  which 
males  of  all  ages  spoke  of  as  Number  Nine.  At  the 
depot  Ranny  found  the  platform  already  crowded 
and  he  had  to  guard  his  bare  feet  as  he  picked  his 
way  among  the  heels  of  preoccupied  adults.  Several 
persons  of  tender  and  interesting  ages  were  there, 
dressed  in  going-away  clothes  and  gripped  by  their 
wrists  on  the  common  parental  theory  that  children 
are  always  bent  on  suicide.  Ranny  wondered 
whether  these  young  people  would  get  into  the 
paper  under  their  own  names  or  only  as  anonymous 
sons  and  daughters. 

As  the  board  platform  was  uncomfortably  hot  to 

24 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

the  feet,  Ranny  crept  into  the  rather  ample  shad 
ow  of  a  lady  who  seemed  stationary.  Presently  a 
young  man  named  Gifford  Rawlins  approached, 
tapping  with  a  pencil  upon  a  little  pack  of  white 
cards. 

"Going  away,  Mrs.  Thompson?"  Rawlins  asked. 

"Yes,"  the  lady  replied,  and  added,  a  little  shame 
facedly,  "but  I  don't  know  as  you  need  to  put  it  in 
the  paper."  Before  Ranny  had  time  to  be  surprised 
at  her  perversity  Mrs.  Thompson  had  relented  and 
was  taking  the  public  into  her  confidence,  admitting 
that  she  was  going  to  Auburn  to  visit  her  sister, 
Emmeline,  whose  married  name  was  Mrs.  Albert 
Randall,  spelled  with  two  "1's." 

Ranny  had  seen  Rawlins  before  and  had  been 
vaguely  aware  that  he  "worked  in  the  printing- 
office";  but  until  now  he  had  never  realized  what  an 
important  function  Rawlins  performed  in  the  life 
of  Lakeville.  This  slim  young  man  with  the  flappy 
serge  coat  and  the  smudge  of  a  mustache  was  the 
link  between  the  citizen  and  the  press ;  he  wandered 
about  from  group  to  group,  asking  questions  and 
jotting  down  answers. 

Deeply  impressed,  Ranny  deserted  the  shady  Mrs. 
Thompson  and  followed  Rawlins  about,  acquiring 
valuable  information.  Mr.  Burgess,  the  lawyer,  was 
going  to  Littleton  on  business;  a  traveling-man 
thought  it  unnecessary  to  say  anything  about  himself 
'  25 


RANNY 

(and  his  two  valises)  because  he  was  going  away  so 
constantly.  Mrs.  Furguson  was  not  taking  a  trip 
herself,  but  she  was  expecting  a  visit  from  a  niece, 
and  the  Bulletin  was  treated  to  the  fascinating  details. 

In  his  absorption  Ranny  crowded  too  close  to  the 
newspaper  man ;  Rawlins  turned  and  looked  him  all 
over,  as  if  a  small  boy  with  a  straw  hat  and  sturdy 
brown  legs  were  a  strange  sight  in  Lakeville. 

"I  suppose,"  said  the  representative  of  the  press, 
"that  you  are  going  to  New  York  to  buy  a  few 
railroads." 

Ranny,  embarrassed,  withdrew  to  a  respectful  dis 
tance  and  leaned  against  the  baggage-wagon,  only 
to  receive  a  sharp  rebuff  from  a  man  in  black  over 
alls  who  seemed  to  need  the  thing  for  his  own 
purposes. 

"Get  away  from  that  truck!"  shouted  the  man. 
"It's  bad  enough,  anyway." 

What  was  bad  enough  he  did  not  say,  but  Ranny 
gathered  that  he  was  annoyed  because  so  many 
people  were  using  his  railroad. 

Many  times  in  the  hours  that  followed  Ranny  re 
proached  himself  for  not  having  made  a  better  show 
ing  before  the  reporter.  If  he  had  managed  things 
right  perhaps  the  name  Randolph  Harrington 
Dukes — in  full,  just  as  it  had  appeared  upon  the 
teacher's  letter — might  have  burst  upon  startled 
Lakeville  that  night,  much  to  Clarence  Raleigh's 

26 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

chagrin.  But  even  after  a  day  of  thought  he  had 
been  unable  to  recall  anything  important  about 
himself  except  that  he  had  three  new  guinea-pigs 
and  a  loose  tooth;  and  apparently  the  Bulletin 
never  printed  items  of  that  sort.  In  his  task  of  re 
producing  the  history  of  civilization,  Ranny  had 
leaped  in  twenty-four  hours  from  the  discovery  of 
printing  to  the  need  of  a  press  agent. 

For  four  feverish  days  he  neglected  his  ordinary 
pursuits  and  moved  in  newspaper  circles.  No 
Indians  whooped  in  the  back  yard,  no  velocipede 
rattled  over  the  bumpy  place  in  Webber's  cement 
sidewalk.  He  haunted  the  station  at  train  times  and 
in  the  evening  enjoyed  the  keen  literary  pleasure  of 
reading  facts  he  already  knew.  He  loitered  in  the 
grimy  back  yard  of  the  printing-office,  fascinated  by 
the  clatter  of  the  press  and  the  smell  of  the  damp 
paper  and  the  hacking  cough  of  the  gas-engine. 
Once  a  boy  whom  he  knew,  somewhat  older  than 
himself,  but  not  old  enough  to  scorn  two  caramels  and 
a  piece  of  sling-shot  rubber,  allowed  him  to  go  along 
in  to  get  his  papers  and  subsequently  to  help  him 
on  his  route.  In  those  days  Ranny  changed  his  very 
life  ideals,  lightly  forsaking  his  youthful  fancy  for 
the  career  of  a  restaurant-keeper  and  resolving  to 
grow  up  into  a  pressman  with  a  distended  cheek  and 
with  ink  clear  to  his  elbows.  Ranny's  devotion  to 
letters  would  have  delighted  his  teacher  if  she  had 

27 


RANNY 

known  about  it;  but  he  began  to  come  late  to  his 
meals  in  a  way  that  did  not  delight  Mother  at  all. 

"I  don't  know  what  has  come  over  him,"  Mother 
said,  one  night  at  supper;  "he  never  stays  at  home 
any  more  or  gets  kindlings  or  helps  with  the  baby." 

"What  are  you  up  to,  Ranny ?"  Father  asked. 

Ranny  did  not  feel  that  his  parents  would  under 
stand  the  finer  points  of  the  case,  so  he  answered, 
evasively : 

"Oh,  jest  foolin'  around  an'  havin'  fun." 

"You  fool  around  a  little  closer  home  after  this," 
Father  replied. 

This  rather  silent  man  did  not  often  find  it  neces 
sary  to  administer  a  rebuke  to  his  son  (possibly  be 
cause  during  the  greater  part  of  every  week-day  he 
was  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  wagons);  but 
when  he  did  speak  sternly  his  words  had  the  force 
of  a  Supreme  Court  decision.  Ranny  realized  that 
night  that  his  days  of  philandering  with  transporta 
tion  and  the  public  prints  were  over.  The  time  had 
come  for  him  to  carry  out  the  plan  that  had  been 
gradually  rolling  up  in  his  consciousness.  It  was  a 
lawless  plan,  fraught  with  dim  difficulties,  but 
Ranny 's  mind  (to  quote  high  authority)  was  "a  one- 
track  road."  The  eight-going-on-nine  world  is  be 
wildering  enough  in  its  essentials  without  being 
cluttered  up  with  distracting  details. 

Accordingly,  at  a  favorable  opportunity  the  next 

28 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

morning  he  concealed  his  best  clothes  in  the  ' '  secret 
den  "  and,  after  much  angling  with  a  stick  and  a  piece 
of  chewing-gum,  abstracted  a  nickel  and  eleven 
pennies  from  his  firecracker  fund  in  the  iron  savings- 
bank.  This  was  pleasant  and  easy  work,  but  as  he 
faced  his  next  task  his  courage  ran  very  low.  It  was 
a  remarkably  hot  morning;  the  "secret  den"  was  like 
an  oven.  As  he  looked  at  the  waist  he  had  to  put  on, 
the  "boughten  pants"  that  had  been  a  little  too 
tight  even  at  the  beginning,  the  suicidal  shoes  and 
stockings,  he  was  strongly  tempted  to  abandon 
dreams  of  glory,  to  go  out  and  pump  a  little  water 
on  his  head  and  sit  in  the  grape-arbor.  It  was  an 
ideal  day  for  sitting. 

But  just  when  his  resolution  was  at  its  lowest  ebb 
his  eye  fell  upon  the  item  he  had  cut  from  the  news 
paper,  the  item  that  had  brought  fame  to  the  in 
significant  Clarence.  This  bit  of  paper  brought  a 
new  supply  of  courage,  and  after  a  painful  time  he 
emerged  from  the  "secret  den,"  sweaty,  itchy,  and 
triumphant,  elegant  against  all  the  laws  of  nature, 
an  unmistakable  traveler  from  creaking  black  shoes 
to  beribboned  sailor  hat.  And  leaving  by  way  of 
the  barn,  he  took  the  less-conspicuous  route  to  the 
station. 

On  the  way  he  met  Bud  Hicks,  a  person  of  low 
intelligence  who  seemed  to  think  there  was  something 
humorous  in  being  dressed  up  on  a  week-day. 

29 


RANNY 

"Hey!  get  on  to  that,  would  you?"  said  Bud,  ad 
dressing  an  imaginary  third  person.  "Oh,  gracious! 
ain't  he  sweet?"  He  added  injury  to  these  insults 
by  tilting  Ranny's  sailor  hat  down  over  one  eye. 

"Aw,  get  outa  my  way!"  Ranny  exclaimed. 
"Can't  you  see  I'm  in  a  hurry?" 

"Where  you  goin'?"  asked  Bud,  just  a  shade  re 
spectfully. 

' '  If  you  look  in  the  paper  to-night  mebbe  you'll  find 
out."  Although  he  was  in  such  a  hurry,  Ranny 
found  time  to  add,  "I  don't  know  if  you  can  read 
the  paper." 

When  he  reached  the  station  he  had  a  sudden 
sinking  of  the  heart.  There  was  nobody  on  the  plat 
form,  the  ticket-window  was  closed,  the  building 
was  apparently  deserted.  Had  he,  then,  after  all  his 
suffering,  missed  Number  Nine  ?  A  "  snake  feeder ' ' 
came  in  the  open  door  and  on  quivering  wings  in 
vestigated  the  merits  of  a  red-and-blue  invitation  to 
a  dollar  Sunday  excursion,  decided  adversely,  and 
whizzed  away.  Ranny  had  bitter  thoughts  of  Bud 
Hicks,  who  had  detained  him  on  the  way;  he  looked 
at  the  hated  shoes  which  had  given  him  such  trouble 
in  the  "secret  den,"  and  had  an  impulse  to  "scuff" 
them  against  something.  But  before  he  did  any 
thing  revengeful  two  women  walked  into  the  station, 
the  hotel  'bus  drew  up  outside  to  a  noisy  "whoe," 
and  presently  the  ticket-window  went  up  with  a 

3° 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

bang.  He  had  been  too  early  and  not  too  late  for 
the  train! 

When  the  first  demand  for  tickets  had  been  satis 
fied,  Ranny,  taking  a  tight  grip  on  his  courage — 
and  upon  the  coins  in  his  pocket — approached  the 
ticket-window.  By  standing  on  tiptoe  and  clinging 
to  the  counter  he  could  just  see  the  ceiling  of  the 
office. 

"How  much  does  it  cost,"  he  asked,  "to  ride  on 
the  train?" 

The  telegraph  instrument  clicked  a  long  time  and 
the  blood  pounded  in  his  ears;  he  was  about  to  re 
peat  his  question  when  two  arms,  covered  with 
funny  black  stockings,  appeared  in  the  window  and 
the  curious  face  of  the  station  agent  came  out  like  a 
spectacled  turtle. 

"What's  your  name,  bub?"  the  man  asked. 

"Randolph  Harrington  Dukes." 

"Oh,  you're  Tom  Dukes's  boy,  are  you?  Where 
do  you  want  to  go?" 

"Manchester." 

"Are  you  alone?" 

"Yes"— faintly. 

The  station  man  tapped  doubtfully  with  his  fingers 
upon  the  window  counter. 

"Well,"  he  said,  finally,  "you  go  half -fare.  It's 
fifteen  cents  one  way  and  thirty  cents  round  trip." 

The  chubby  fist  on  the  edge  of  the  counter  opened 


RANNY 

and  reluctantly  gave  up  its  store  of  sweaty  coins; 
the  man  stamped  and  handed  out  a  ticket,  also  one 
cent,  which,  obeying  a  subtle  magnetic  force,  drew 
its  owner  toward  the  slot  machine.  With  the  ticket 
in  one  hand  and  a  piece  of  chocolate  in  the  other, 
Ranny  set  forth  in  search  of  publicity. 

Out  on  the  platform  the  reporter  was  wandering 
about,  gathering  food  for  a  hungry  reading  public; 
his  presence  set  at  rest  a  fear  which  had  haunted 
Ranny  that  Rawlins  might  get  sick  or  fall  into  the 
printing-press  just  when  he  was  most  needed. 
Rallying  his  moral  forces,  he  planted  himself  in  front 
of  the  rising  young  journalist:  • 

"I'm  going  to  Manchester,"  he  said,  introducing 
the  chocolate  as  documentary  evidence,  then,  in 
confusion,  substituting  the  ticket. 

Rawlins  looked  down  at  him  as  if  surprised  at  the 
change  in  the  boy's  appearance  since  they  had  last 
met.  Ranny  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  his  bow  tie 
was  more  lumpy  than  mothers  usually  made  them 
and  that  his  neck  and  ears  might  not  be  convincing 
—he  had  not  gone  to  any  absurd  lengths  in  the 
matter  of  ablutions.  But  Rawlins,  fortunately,  was 
not  captious. 

"What's  your  name?"  he  asked,  flourishing  his 
pencil  with  a  wink  at  a  bystander. 

Ranny  gave  his  name  in  its  full  dignified  form. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  in  Manchester?" 

32 


THE    POWER    OF   THE    PRESS 

"I-I'm  going  v- visiting."  Ranny  never  stam 
mered  except  when  it  was  the  worst  thing  he  could 
do. 

"Yes?"  said  Rawlins,  encouragingly. 

"I-I'm  g-goin'  to  visit  my  a-aunt." 

"And  what  is  your  aunt's  name?" 

"S-s-smith,"  said  Ranny,  desperately. 

To  his  great  relief,  somebody  called  out,  "Say, 
Giff,  come  'ere  a  minute." 

It  was  the  station  agent,  who  had  stuck  his  head 
out  of  a  window  that  opened  upon  the  platform. 
This  man's  life-work  seemed  to  be  sticking  his  head 
out  of  windows;  there  were  people  in  Lakeville 
older  than  Ranny  who  had  never  seen  the  lower  half 
of  the  ticket  agent. 

The  two  men  conversed  in  low  tones  and  once 
Ranny  fancied  they  were  looking  at  him.  Resisting 
a  desire  to  eat  his  candy,  he  put  one  hand  into  tr;e 
breast  of  his  waist  and  walked  about  with  long 
strides  like  a  public  character.  The  platform  was 
quite  crowded  now;  the  baggage-man's  face  wore 
a  hunted  look  and  Ranny  heard  him  ask  the  'bus- 
driver,  "What  do  they  think  I  am?" 

Number  Nine  was  such  a  long  time  in  coming  that 
Ranny 's  eyeballs  ached  from  gazing  up  the  shimmer 
ing  track;  if  the  train  did  not  come,  what,  he  won 
dered,  would  be  the  attitude  of  the  press  toward 
those  who  had  spoken  of  going  on  it?  But  at  last 

33 


RANNY 

the  long,  low  whistle  east  of  town  put  all  doubts  at 
rest.  The  goal  of  his  ambition  was  in  sight.  To 
night  people  would  be  sitting  on  front  porches  all 
over  Lakeville  and  saying  to  one  another: 

"Oh,  I  see  by  the  paper  that  Randolph  Harrington 
Dukes  has  gone  to  Manchester."  Bud  Hicks  would 
hear  about  it  and  be  unpleasantly  surprised ;  Mother 
would  be  greatly  pleased  at  the  honor  that  had  be 
fallen  the  family,  and  Father  would  probably  talk 
it  over  with  Mr.  Jennings.  More  than  likely  there 
would  be  ice-cream  soda  for  all  hands. 

These  happy  reflections  were  put  to  a  sudden  end, 
for,  as  the  train  arrived  in  a  gale  of  cinders,  a  heavy 
hand  descended  upon  Ranny's  shoulder.     He  cried 
out  more  with  surprise  than  pain,  and,  twisting  about 
looked  up  in  the  face  of  Rawlins. 

"You  stay  with  me,  kid,"  said  the  reporter,  with 
an  eloquent  squeeze  of  the  shoulder.  "Your  father 
says  you  can't  go." 

"Is  Father  here?"  Ranny  asked,  in  dismay. 

"Telephone,"  said  Rawlins. 

Ranny  understood.  The  reporter  and  the  ticket 
agent  had  put  their  heads  together  and  telephoned 
to  Father  at  the  factory  office.  The  perpetual  adult 
conspiracy  against  boyhood  had  done  its  hateful  work. 

Bitter  disappointment  swept  over  him;  he  swal 
lowed  desperately;  he  made  an  ill-advised  attempt 
to  kick  the  rising  young  journalist  on  the  shin. 

34 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

"You  better  let  go!"  he  said,  menacingly,  but 
Rawlins  only  gave  him  an  unnecessary  shake  and 
the  train  creaked  and  puffed  and  pulled  away. 

"Now,"  said  Rawlins,  relaxing  his  hold,  "you  will 
try  to  run  away,  will  you?" 

Ranny  looked  up  at  the  man  who  for  four  days 
had  represented  everything  that  was  most  desirable 
in  life. 

"Aw,"  he  said  in  a  choking  voice,  "who's  tryin' 
to  run  away?"     Thereupon,  in  the  presence  of  a 
representative  of  the  press  and  a  number  of  Lake- 
ville's  citizens,  Randolph  Harrington  Dukes  cried. 

A  lady  unknown  to  him  removed  his  fists  from  his 
eyes  and  dabbled  his  face  with  a  handkerchief, 
shaking  her  head  with  distress  at  the  black  smudge 
on  the  cloth.  A  small  boy  in  a  costume  of  two 
pieces  plus  a  fragment  of  a  straw  hat  shifted  his 
weight  from  one  bare  foot  to  the  other  on  the  hot 
boards  and  grinned.  Humiliation  was  complete. 

Into  this  situation  walked  a  tall,  wide  man  who 
had  evidently  arrived  on  the  train. 

"What's  this,  what's  this?"  the  new-comer  asked. 
"Tom  Dukes's  boy?  What's  the  matter,  little 
feller?" 

"He  tried  to  run  away,"  said  the  barefoot  boy, 
traitorously  joining  the  adult  conspiracy. 

Rawlins  explained  the  matter  in  disgusting  de 
tail.  The  big  man  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  and 

35 


RANNY 

exclaimed,  "Well,  I'll  be  jiggered,  and  presently, 
"I'll  be  switched." 

"I'll  take  him  home,"  he  said  to  Rawlins;  "his 
folks  live  over  my  way." 

So  Ranny,  who  had  apparently  ceased  to  be  a  free 
agent,  was  transferred  from  the  custody  of  Rawlins 
to  that  of  the  "heavy-set  man."  At  any  rate,  the 
change  was  an  improvement.  The  man  was  so  big 
around  that  he  was  a  diverting  spectacle;  his  eye 
brows  were  drawn  high  upon  his  face  as  if  he  were 
permanently  astonished. 

"So  you're  Tom  Dukes's  boy,  tryin'  to  run  away?" 
At  his  own  question  he  broke  into  a  laugh  that  shook 
his  whole  body  and  set  the  peach-seed  basket  on  his 
watch-chain  to  dancing  joyously.  He  had  to  let  go 
of  his  charge's  hand  and  mop  his  face  with  a  red 
handkerchief.  Ranny  did  not  know  what  the  joke 
was,  but  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  a  man  laugh  so 
extensively. 

"You  ask  your  father,  when  you  get  home,  if  he 
remembers  the  time  him  and  Jim  Stoner  went  'coon- 
huntin'  over  by  Yella  Crick." 

Ranny  decided  that  he  liked  this  Mr.  Stoner; 
he  began  to  hope  that  his  new  friend  would  come 
right  into  the  house  and  greet  the  family — Father 
would  be  at  home  for  dinner  by  this  time.  In  fact 
he  went  so  far  as  to  plan  that,  just  as  they  entered 
the  yard,  he  would  call  out,  cheerfully,  "Father, 

36 


THE    POWER    OF   THE    PRESS 

here's  Mr.  Stoner."  Father  and  Mr.  Stoner  would 
then  no  doubt  fall  to  talking  about  old  times,  and  an 
affair  which  might  so  easily  be  otherwise  would  be 
come  rather  a  jovial  occasion.  Only  he  wished  Mr. 
Stoner  would  settle  upon  "jiggered  "  and  stop  saying, 
"I'll  be  switched " ;  that  sort  of  thing  puts  ideas  into 
parents'  heads. 

As  they  went  along  Ranny  gave  polite  attention 
to  Mr.  Stoner's  remarks  and  laughed  heartily  when 
ever  it  seemed  proper.  In  so  doing  he  tried  to  divert 
attention  from  what  was  going  on  behind  them.  It 
was  not  necessary  that  Mr.  Stoner  should  see  that 
the  boy  from  the  station  had  been  following  them  at. 
a  cautious  distance,  whistling  on  his  fingers  from  time; 
to  time  and  inviting  the  interest  of  other  youth.. 
Ranny  knew  by  the  noise  that  the  rising  generation 
was  gathering  rapidly.  There  were  guffaws  and. 
giggles,  and  once  he  distinctly  heard  the  words  of 
Ted  Blake,  who  was  never  careful  of  his  language: 
"No,  he  won't  get  a  deuce  of  a  whalin'  or  nuthin'r 
oh  no!"  As  they  turned  a  corner  Ranny  permitted 
himself  a  careful  glance  across  Mr.  Stoner's  periph 
ery  and  discovered  that  Tom  Rucker  and  "Fatty" 
Hartman,  amid  popular  approval,  were  giving  an 
impersonation  of  him  and  his  new  friend  walking; 
hand  in  hand.  "Fatty"  was  leaning  backward  and 
waddling  like  a  duck,  thus  making  himself  appear 
even  more  corpulent  than  he  was  by  nature.  Tom 

11836$" 


RANNY 

was  blubbering  ostentatiously.  The  incidental  music 
was  a  kind  of  chant :  ' '  Ranny  ran  away,  Ranny  ran 
away."  On  the  whole  he  was  glad  when  the  journey 
was  at  an  end  and  he  had  slipped  comfortably  out  of 
the  fiy ing-pan. 

The  home-coming  was  not  at  all  as  planned. 
Mother  rushed  down  to  the  gate,  threw  her  arms 
around  him,  and  cried — a  little.  Mrs.  Brown,  the 
next-door  neighbor,  laid  loving,  but  dishwatery, 
hands  upon  him  and  told  him  he  was  a  bad  boy. 
Father  looked  very  grave  and  said,  "Thank  you, 
Jim."  Mr.  Stoner  departed  at  once,  still  vacillating 
between  being  jiggered  and  switched.  With  his  go 
ing  the  street  and  the  yard — and  the  future — seemed 
very  desolate  to  Randolph  Harrington  Dukes. 

Ranny  was  not  switched ;  neither  was  he  jiggered, 
unless  that  means  being  put  into  a  hot  and  untimely 
bed  and  told  to  spend  the  afternoon  in  remorse. 
Remorse  proved  an  unpleasant  and  tiresome  business, 
so  Ranny  went  to  sleep.  When  he  awoke  he  was 
surprised  to  find  that  the  yellow  sunlight  was  flooding 
the  room  and  that  Father  was  standing  beside  the 
bed,  poking  him  with  a  folded  newspaper. 

"Ranny,"  said  Father,  in  a  tone  that  had  in  it 
more  of  sadness  than  of  anger,  "why  did  you  try 
to  run  away  ?  Isn't  your  home  good  enough  for  you  ? 
Don't  we  give  you  everything  you  need?" 

"I  wasn't  runnin'  away,"  said  Ranny. 

38 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

"Randolph!" 

"I  wasn't,"  said  Ranny,  earnestly.  "I  was  jest 
goin'  to  climb  through  the  train  an'  get  out  on  the 
other  side." 

"Look  here,  son,"  said  Father,  sharply,  "don't 
make  it  worse  by  lying.  You  put  on  your  best 
clothes  and  you  bought  a  ticket  for  Manchester." 

The  whole  truth  had  to  come  out  now  in  refutation 
of  the  unjust  charge  that  he  was  trying  to  run  away. 

' '  I  wanted  'em  to  print  my  name  in  the  paper  like 
Clarence  Raleigh  an'  Mrs.  Thompson  an'  Mr. 
Webber  an'  Clarence  Raleigh  an'  ever'body." 

"You  wanted  them  to  say  you  were  running 
away?" 

"I  wasn't  runnin'  away.  I  wanted  them  to  print 
— you  know — Randolph  Harrington  Dukes,  son  of 
Thomas  Dukes,  is  v- visiting— 

"Listen,"  Father  interrupted,  seating  himself  on 
the  edge  of  the  bed  and  unfolding  the  paper.  "See 
how  you  like  it: 

"'Stops  boy  runaway — representative  of  this  pa 
per  captures  young  Randolph  Dukes,  who  is  about  to 
take  the  train  for  Manchester." 

Ranny  was  dizzy  with  embarrassment  and  chagrin 
and  anger;  only  fragments  of  Father's  recital  came 
to  his  consciousness — "a  half -fare  ticket  for  Man 
chester  .  .  .  voluntarily  disclosed  his  purpose  .  .  . 
a  false  story  about  an  aunt.' 
4  39 


RANNY 

"Now  pay  especial  attention  to  this:  'The  boy's 
motive  for  running  away  is  unknown.  He  has  never 
before  been  in  trouble  and  his  record  in  school  is  said 
to  be  fairly  good."  (Here  Father's  voice  rose  to 
heights  of  impressiveness.)  "The  Bulletin  hopes 
that  this  public  warning  will  be  a  lesson  to  him  and 
that  he  will  be  a  better  boy  for  it." 

Father  laid  a  hand  upon  Ranny's  arm. 

"Are  you  sorry  you  brought  this  disgrace  to  the 
family?"  he  asked. 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  promise  never  to  do  it  again?" 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  sorry  you  made  Mother  so  unhappy?" 

Ranny  felt  the  need  of  a  more  sprightly  element  in 
the  conversation. 

"Say,  Father,"  he  said,  "do  you  remember  the 
time  you  and  Jim  Stoner  went  'coon-huntin'  by  Yella 
Crick?" 

Father  departed  abruptly,  muttering,  "You'd  bet 
ter  hurry  and  get  dressed  if  you  want  any  supper." 

Gloom  hung  about  in  the  middle  distance  as 
Ranny  made  his  sketchy  toilet.  He  was  depressed 
over  the  wreck  of  his  parents'  happiness,  over  the 
false  position  he  was  in,  over  the  ridicule  of  his  peers. 
He  blamed  the  Bulletin  for  his  troubles,  he  hated  the 
whole  profession  from  meddling  reporters  to  dirty, 
tobacco-chewing  pressmen.  In  Ranny's  personally 

40 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 

conducted  civilization  the  age  of  publicity  had  run 
its  fitful  course. 

But  the  world  of  eight-going-on-nine  has  a  limited 
capacity  for  despondency;  the  boy's  cup  of  bitter 
ness  is  equipped  with  an  automatic  stop-cock.  And 
Ranny  soon  found  that  somewhere  in  his  internal 
economy,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  blouse-string 
he  was  now  tying,  there  was  a  little  flutter  that  was 
distinctly  pleasurable.  These  bungling,  long-trou 
sered  folk  with  their  eternal  talk  of  runaways  had 
overplayed  their  parts. 

As  supper  was  nearing  its  end  there  came  a 
breach  of  the  peace  from  the  direction  of  the  street. 
This  sound  consisted  of  an  intermittent  yell,  aided 
by  the  skilful  vibration  of  a  hand  before  the  mouth — 
one  device  by  which  youth  avoided  the  degrading 
necessity  of  knocking  on  adult  doors.  At  the  ear 
liest  moment  consistent  with  cherry  pie  Ranny  sped 
down  the  path  and  discovered  that  mouth  and  hand 
were  the  property  of  Bud  Hicks.  Thereupon,  in  the 
thickening  dusk  ensued  this  colloquy : 

'"Lo,  Ranny!" 

'"Lo!" 

"C'mon  over  turnorra  and  be  in  the  show." 

"What  show?" 

"You  know — like  movin'  pitchers — the  Young 
Boy  Runaway  and  everything.  You  can  be  the 
runaway." 


RANNY 

' 'All  right— mebbe." 

"Go'-by." 

"Go'-by." 

Bud  departed,  making  delicious  music  along  the 
picket  fence  with  a  stick. 

The  prospective  villain  of  the  drama  came  upon 
the  side  porch  noiselessly,  his  feet  having  reverted 
to  a  state  of  nature.  Through  the  open  dining-room 
window  he  looked  upon  a  charming  domestic  scene. 
Father  had  his  arm  about  Mother's  waist  and  her 
head  rested  wearily  upon  his  shoulder. 

"He's  not  a  bad  boy,  Elizabeth,"  Father  said, 
"any  more  than  I  was  when  I  ran  away  to  go  'coon- 
hunting  with  Jim  Stoner." 

"I  know,  Tom,  but  he  has  been  so  hard  to  under 
stand  this  last  year.  He  takes  up  things  so  in 
tently,  then  suddenly  loses  interest  in  them." 

"He's  dabbling  in  life,  dear,"  said  Father,  and 
after  a  pause  he  added,  "I  think  I'll  run  down -town 
for  a  while — they'll  all  be  wanting  to  know  about 
the  little  shaver." 

"All  right" — Mother  gave  an  awkward  little 
laugh — "I  wish  you  would  stop  in  at  the  office  and 
get  five  or  six  copies  of  the  Bulletin." 


Ill 

AUNT   MARY,    PREFERRED 

FATHER  and  Mother  had  not  cleared  their 
minds  entirely  of  the  idea  that  the  abortive 
trip  to  Manchester  had  sprung  from  a  desire  for 
travel  and  change. 

When  it  was  accordingly  decided  in  family  council 
that  Ranny  was  to  spend  a  week  at  Aunt  Mary's  in 
the  country,  that  youth  went  forth,  with  a  pocket 
full  of  gingersnaps,  to  put  himself  in  a  favorable 
light  before  his  fellow-boy.  The  farm  was  always 
referred  to  in  matriarchal  terms  because  Aunt  Mary 
was  Father's  own  sister,  while  Uncle  Abner  Crane 
was  merely  a  matrimonial  incident.  There  was  also 
a  cousin  of  contemporary  age  to  Ranny,  but  this 
fact  was  not  for  the  general  public,  because  the  cousin 
was  of  the  sex  appropriate  to  the  name  of  Dorothy. 
It  was  natural,  therefore,  that  Ranny,  having  found 
a  victim,  should  say: 

"I'm  goin'  visitin'  at  my  aunt  Mary's  in  the 
country." 

Bud  Hicks,  who  had  found  a  wabbly  picket  in  Mr. 

43 


RANNY 

Webber's  front  fence  and  was  making  original  re 
searches  as  upon  a  loose  tooth,  seemed  unable  to 
rise  above  mere  creature  wants. 

"Gimme  sumpin'  good,"  he  said. 

Ranny  delivered  over  a  gingersnap  and  they 
munched  convivially  in  the  June  sunshine.  It  was  a 
time  of  drowsy  contentment.  The  dusty  mills  of 
learning  were  newly  closed,  and  there  were  wide 
spread  unemployment  and  happiness.  Presently 
upon  a  vagrant  breeze  came  a  whoop  of  the  peculiar 
Tom  Rucker  quality. 

"I  gotta" — munch,  munch — "Aunt  Mary  my 
own  self,"  said  Bud. 

"Yes,  you  have." 

"I  have,  too.  She  lives  in  Manchester.  Ya  c'n 
ast  my  mother." 

Tom  Rucker  approached,  was  fed  and  enlightened. 
The  three  took  leisure-class  postures  under  a  tree, 
stomachs  upon  the  grass  and  bare  feet  pointing 
skyward.  Tom's  ears,  which  were  connected  up  in 
a  different  way  from  the  commonalty  of  ears,  re 
corded  each  munch  with  a  slight  vibration. 

"My  aunt  Mary,"  said  Tom,  "lives  more  'n  a 
thousand  miles  away." 

"Who  said  she  didn't?"  Ranny  had  an  irritable 
feeling  about  the  neck-band.  Aunt  Marys  were 
getting  too  common  for  comfort. 

Two  other  boys  now  swelled  the  meeting  of  the 

44 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

unemployed,  and  Mr.  Webber's  outer  lawn  showed  a 
promising  crop  of  white,  early  June  legs.  The  new 
comers  were  cut  off  with  half  a  gingersnap  apiece, 
but  each  claimed  a  full  share  in  the  universal  Aunt 
Mary. 

"Everybody's  got  one,"  said  Bud.  "They  ain't 
nothin'  to  have." 

Ranny,  who  was  growing  desperate,  saw  with  relief 
an  elegantly  dressed  person  approaching  sedately 
upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  His  shoes 
and  stockings  alone  would  have  barred  him  from 
good  society  and  his  flowing  necktie  was  an  open 
scandal. 

"I  betcha  Clarence  Raleigh  'ain't  got  no  Aunt 
Mary,"  said  Ranny.  "What  '11  ya  bet?" 

"Well,  mebbe  not  Clarence,"  Bud  conceded,  easily. 

Surprised  at  a  summons,  the  gilded  youth  picked 
his  way  carefully  across  the  dusty  street. 

"You  'ain't  got  any  Aunt  Mary,  have  you, 
Clarence?"  asked  Ranny,  hopefully. 

"Oh  no,  I  haven't  got  an  Aunt  Mary,"  replied 
Clarence,  with  unwonted  spirit.  "Not  at  all.  I've 
got  two,  that's  all  I've  got!" 

Aunt  Mary,  Common,  having  dropped  to  an  im 
perceptible  figure,  Ranny  saw  that  his  only  hope  lay 
in  Aunt  Mary,  Preferred. 

"I  guess  proba'ly  nobody's  got  a  Aunt  Mary  like 
mine,"  he  said. 

45 


RANNY 

"Good  reason,"  replied  Bud,  without  going  into 
details. 

"My  aunt  Marys  are  rich,"  said  Clarence,  "pretty 
near  both  of  them." 

This  preposterous  remark  gave  rise  to  a  favorite 
outdoor  sport,  "picking  on"  Clarence  Raleigh,  a 
respite  especially  welcome  to  Ranny  because  the 
bulky  form  of  "Fatty"  Hartman,  a  superboaster, 
could  be  seen  gradually  drawing  near.  A  ginger- 
snap  inserted  into  "Fatty"  would  have  produced 
anywhere  from  three  to  six  Aunt  Marys.  Public 
interest  presently  shifted  to  a  dog  which  ran  upon 
three  legs,  and  in  the  ensuing  leisure  Ranny  resolved, 
while  visiting,  to  gather  up  Aunt  Mary's  superior 
points  as  one  collects  horseshoe  nails  or  bones. 
When  he  came  home  from  the  country  he  would 
show  them  something  rather  staggering. 

After  three  days,  which  were  long  even  for  June, 
Uncle  Abner  came  driving  a  dust-colored  horse  and 
brought,  besides  unimportant  gifts  of  butter  and 
eggs,  some  exciting  information.  His  brother's  boy, 
Fred,  was  now  visiting  his  country  relations  and 
playing  fast  and  loose  with  the  Crane  landscape. 

"He's  a  caution — that  nephew  of  mine,"  said 
Uncle  Abner.  ' '  I  suppose  when  the  two  of  them  get 
together  they  won't  leave  much  of  the  poor  old 
place." 

It  was  not  until  boy  and  man  and  dust-colored 

46 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

horse  had  left  Lakeville  behind  them,  and  Mother's 
instructions  about  being  nice  to  Dorothy  and  not 
giving  any  trouble  had  sunk  to  their  proper  place  in 
the  limbo  of  oblivion,  that  Ranny  took  up  a  question 
that  had  been  giving  him  some  concern. 

"This  boy,  Fred — what  relation  is  him  an'  me?" 

A  splotch  of  dried  mud  on  the  buggy-wheel  made 
perhaps  a  dozen  revolutions  before  Uncle  Abner 
replied : 

"Well,  you  couldn't  say  he's  any  relation  exactly. 
Course  he's  a  cousin  to  your  cousin  Dot.  Maybe 
we  could  make  up  a  word  for  it.  Let's  see  now. 
How  would  second  cousin-in-law  do?" 

Being  second  cousin-in-law  to  a  "caution"  was  en 
tirely  satisfactory  to  Ranny. 

"My  aunt  Mary's  his  aunt  Mary,  too." 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Abner,  gently.  "Yes,  you're 
both  lucky  that  way." 

The  silence  that  followed  was  a  little  more  intimate 
than  its  predecessors.  Ranny  kept  taking  cautious 
glances  of  exploration.  There  was  something  about 
the  eyes  of  this  tall,  lanky  uncle  that  made  him  look 
as  if  he  were  continually  scared;  the  little  whiskery 
patch  upon  his  chin  was  like  a  beard  that  did  not 
want  to  give  any  trouble.  Uncle  Abner  wore  a 
linen  duster  to  protect  his  clothes,  but  allowed  it  to 
flap  open  so  that  it  did  not  do  so,  though  permitting  a 
fine  view  of  a  life-like  little  cucumber  upon  his  watch- 

47 


RANNY 

chain.  He  sat  timidly  close  to  the  end  of  the  buggy 
seat  and  kept  one  foot  on  the  step  as  if  he  would 
willingly  get  out  and  walk  if  Ranny  but  said  the 
word. 

Uncle  Abner  studied  every  field  and  cow  and  barn 
— one  would  think  he  had  never  been  in  the  country 
before.  Once  he  started  to  hum  a  little  tune,  but 
thought  better  of  it.  At  last  he  spoke  in  evident 
embarrassment : 

"Our  farm  is  shaped  like  a  piece  of  pie.  The 
river  curves  around  to  make  the  outside  crust,  and 
it  comes  together  toward  the  house." 

Ranny  stowed  away  this  good  news  as  something 
that  might  bring  Aunt  Mary  credit  in  select  circles. 

"I  guess  we're  gonta  have  some  pie,"  he  said, 
politely. 

Uncle  Abner  seemed  to  find  this  remark  witty. 
For  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  the  conversation 
might  be  saved,  but  it  went  down  for  the  third  time. 

When  they  had  traveled  so  long  and  so  far  that 
Lakeville  had  faded  in  Ranny's  mind  to  something 
that  had  to  do  with  his  lost  youth,  they  stopped  be 
fore  a  farm-house.  A  man  younger  than  Uncle  Abner 
came  out  of  the  yard,  picked  up  a  stick,  and  opened 
his  pocket-knife.  Ranny  looked  at  Uncle  Abner  and 
found  nothing  to  reassure  him;  Uncle  Abner  was 
apparently  very  much  frightened,  his  face  was  red, 
and  his  eyes  watered.  But  instead  of  whipping  up 

48 


OCR    FARM    IS    SHAI'KI)    I, IKK    A    I'IF.CE    OF    PIE 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

the  horse  and  making  a  dash  for  it,  he  waited  for  the 
armed  man  to  reach  the  buggy. 

"Henry,"  he  said,  "I've  got  an  idea  about  that 
hillside  piece  back  there.  More  'n  likely  I'm  wrong." 

To  Ranny's  relief  the  young  farmer  seemed  molli 
fied,  and  began  to  use  the  knife  upon  the  stick. 

"Go  ahead,  Abner,"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  ketch 
you  bein'  wrong  once." 

It  was  clear  that  Uncle  Abner  was  in  a  desperate 
situation.  What  he  said  was  entirely  outside  of 
Ranny's  province — something  about  plowing  it  the 
other  way  and  holding  the  moisture,  but  Henry 
seemed  to  think  well  of  it. 

"Yes — I  guess  that's  right,"  he  said,  thought 
fully.  "Yes,  I'll  do  that.  What  are  you  askin'  a 
pound  for  this — on  the  hoof?"  Henry  laid  a  hand 
upon  Ranny's  knee. 

Uncle  Abner  evaded  the  question  on  the  pretext 
that  he  didn't  want  to  sell  the  boy  until  they  had 
fattened  him  up,  and  they  finally  got  away  safely. 
Maybe,  Ranny  thought,  the  man  wasn't  angry, 
after  all.  But  then  why  was  Uncle  Abner  so  scared? 
What  kind  of  uncle  was  this,  anyway? 

"Here's  where  we  cross  the  county  line,"  said 
Uncle  Abner  at  last.  "Our  farm  begins  at  this 
fence." 

Here  was  exciting  information  for  the  Lakeville 
public ;  Aunt  Mary  apparently  had  something  to  do 

49 


RANNY 

with  geography.  But  there  was  no  time  to  go  into 
this  matter  deeply,  because  they  were  in  the  yard 
now  and  Aunt  Mary  herself  was  coming  out  to 
greet  them.  Ranny  had  not  been  able  to  remember 
exactly  how  Aunt  Mary  looked,  but  now  her  pre 
dominating  plumpness,  and  the  round  face  that 
smiled  so  easily,  and  the  series  of  quick,  hard  hugs 
she  gave  a  person,  seemed  perfectly  familiar.  It 
was  as  if  he  had  seen  her  only  about  the  day  before 
yesterday. 

"Well,  Dot,"  she  said,  apparently  addressing  the 
open  air,  "aren't  you  going  to  kiss  Ranny?" 

Dorothy  reluctantly  abandoned  her  hiding-place 
on  the  other  side  of  her  mother  and  put  her  face  at 
his  disposal.  The  rite  was  performed  in  a  sketchy 
fashion,  and  Ranny  hoped  that  it  had  not  been 
observed  by  the  dark  young  stranger  sitting  on  the 
edge  of  the  porch  and  examining  his  big  toe  in  an 
elaborate  pretense  that  nobody  had  come. 

Dorothy  was  the  first  to  recover  from  the  opera 
tion.  "Come  on,  Fred,"  she  called  out.  "We  have 
something  to  show  Ranny,  you  know."  This  was 
at  once  a  welcome,  an  introduction,  and  a  promise  of 
a  lively  future. 

Ranny  found  that  while  a  glance  at  an  Aunt  Mary 
establishes  her  upon  a  familiar  footing,  one  has  to 
get  acquainted  with  a  girl  cousin  over  again  each 
time  because  she  is  always  changing.  Dorothy  had 

5° 


grown,  undoubtedly,  but  she  was  still  of  the  roly-poly 
school  of  architecture,  and  had  not  yet  begun  to 
put  all  her  energies  into  the  production  of  arms  and 
legs.  Dorothy's  speech,  perhaps  because  in  her 
home  life  she  was  deprived  of  the  advantages  of 
society  of  her  own  age,  was  of  that  painful  correct 
ness  affected  by  teachers.  She  was  incorrigibly  neat 
in  her  clothing,  too.  She  wore  shoes  in  the  summer 
time  (as  is  so  often  the  case  with  girls) ,  her  stockings 
were  never  allowed  to  sag,  or  the  ribbons  which 
secured  the  two  braids  of  hair,  the  color  of  well- 
pulled  molasses  taffy,  to  go  awry.  She  was  the  kind 
of  girl  of  whom  visiting  ladies  say  in  low  tones, 
"What  a  beautiful  child;  just  like  a  doll!"  Ranny 
was  no  judge  of  girlish  beauty,  but  his  experience 
had  been  that  the  doll-like  ones  were  the  most  use 
less  of  all  and  were  constantly  pestering  a  person  to 
play  house. 

Having  put  his  shoes  and  stockings  and  his  ' '  other 
clothes"  where  they  would  give  him  no  concern 
until  it  was  time  to  go  home,  Ranny  joined  his 
dainty  cousin  and  the  dark,  piratical  Fred  for  a  tour 
of  inspection.  Fred  aspired  toward  the  zenith  rather 
than  toward  the  horizon ;  he  was  active  and  strong, 
but  he  had  nothing  to  speak  of  in  the  way  of  thick 
ness.  While  Dorothy's  smile  was  almost  chronic 
and  she  giggled  without  effort,  it  was  the  solemn- 
faced  second  cousin-in-law  who  did  the  ridiculous 

5* 


RANNY 

things.  Fred  was  more  laughed  against  than  laugh 
ing.  He  had  a  hoarse,  low  voice  suggesting  a  per 
manent  bad  cold,  and  whenever  he  said  anything 
funny  he  spoke  in  tones  of  deep  depression,  as  one 
trying  to  satisfy  the  teacher's  curiosity  about  the 
capital  of  North  Carolina. 

Although  Dorothy,  smiling,  was  an  agreeable  sight 
rather  than  otherwise,  Ranny  had  a  feeling  of  growing 
irritation  that  the  "caution"  was  taking  a  too 
prominent  part  in  the  entertainment.  Therefore, 
with  no  settled  plan,  he  picked  up  a  corncob  and 
hurled  it  valiantly  at  nothing  in  particular. 

' '  Watch  me  sling, ' '  he  said,  as  he  let  fly. 

"That's  nothin',"  said  Fred,  gruffly,  but  his  own 
performance  did  not  prove  remarkable  in  any  way. 

"I  can  throw,  too,"  said  Dorothy. 

What  followed  was  one  of  the  great  surprises  of 
Ranny 's  life;  it  unsettled  one  of  his  profoundest 
convictions.  The  soft-looking  hand  of  a  cream- 
whiteness  which  had  resisted  the  June  sun,  disdain 
ing  corncobs,  closed  upon  a  stone,  which  with  un 
believable  accuracy  sped  straight  and  low  to  an 
unoffending  carriage-shed. 

"She — she  slings  like  a  boy!"  said  the  astonished 
visitor  from  Lakeville.  "Underhand  an'  ever'- 
thing." 

From  that  moment  Dorothy  was  a  force  to  be 
reckoned  with.  A  girl  who  could  throw  like  that 

52 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

could  not  be  shunted  off  to  play  with  dolls  while 
important  people  went  about  seeing  life.  In  fact, 
Ranny  wondered  whether  the  matter  might  not  be 
mentioned  cautiously  to  discreet  people  back  in 
Lakeville. 

Prominent  among  the  phenonema  of  the  farm  was 
Jake,  the  hired  man.  Jake  was  apparently  two 
kinds  of  hired  man,  subdued  and  silent  when,  with 
wet  hair  plastered  down,  he  joined  the  family  at 
their  early  supper,  loquacious  and  self-confident  when 
before  a  mixed  audience  of  three  he  tyrannized  over 
the  horses  and  cows  in  the  gathering  dusk. 

"What  are  you  mostly,  Dot,"  he  asked,  first 
making  sure  that  Uncle  Abner  was  not  within  ear 
shot  of  the  watering-trough,  "a  Crane  or  a  Dukes?" 

Dorothy  laughed,  but  declined  to  analyze  herself. 

"Well,  which  cousin  do  you  like  best,  Fred  or 
Ranny?" 

"I  don't  know,  Jake,"  said  the  embarrassed  host 
ess.  ' '  I  like  them  both. ' ' 

Jake  slapped  old  Prince  on  the  flank  and  presently 
returned  from  the  stable  with  another  thirsty  horse. 

"A  crane  is  a  bird  with  long,  skinny  legs,"  he 
said,  helpfully,  "and  dukes  is  a  kind  of  people  that 
lives  in  foreign  countries  like  England  and  Europe." 

Dorothy  did  not  care  to  choose  between  being  a 
long-legged  bird  and  a  foreigner.  "Come  on,  boys," 
she  said,  "let's  go  to  the  corn-crib." 

S3 


_ RANNY 

"Don't  let  'em  fight,"  Jake  chuckled  as  they 
started  away. 

Ranny  furtively  sized  up  his  distant  relative,  if 
any.  Fred  was  undoubtedly  the  taller,  but  just  the 
same  he'd  better  not  get  smart. 

"I  live  in  Manchester,"  said  Fred,  ostensibly  to 
Dorothy.  "I  bet  Manchester's  bigger  'n  Lake- 
ville." 

"I  bet  it  ain't,"  Ranny  replied. 

They  wagered  several  barrels  of  imaginary  money, 
but  came  to  no  decision.  Their  common  cousin 
tried  to  shift  to  non-controversial  themes. 

"Jake  can  lift  a  calf  with  one  hand,"  she  said. 
But  this  well-intentioned  remark  only  started  an 
argument  as  to  the  relative  lifting  powers  of  Cranes 
and  Dukeses — a  disagreement  that  lasted  until  Aunt 
Mary  called  out: 

"Come  into  the  house  now.  My  goodness!  it's 
getting  dark." 

It  is  hard  enough  to  go  to  sleep,  anyway,  in  a 
strange  bed  and  with  a  very  strange  bedfellow, 
without  having  perplexing  new  problems  to  worry 
about.  Ranny  saw  that  the  honor  of  the  Dukes 
family  was  in  his  keeping.  Dorothy  did  not  seem  to 
care  much  about  the  matter,  but  Jake  wanted  it 
settled,  and  Fred,  otherwise  an  interesting  person, 
was  beginning  to  put  on  airs.  Ranny  had  never 
upheld  the  honor  of  a  family  before,  and  did  not 

54 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

know  just  how  it  was  done.  In  what  way  the 
Dukeses  were  superior  to  the  rest  of  humanity 
Father  and  Mother  had  never  taken  pains  to  ex 
plain.  In  his  perplexity  Ranny  wished  heartily 
that  he  was  back  where  the  Dukeses  were  a  more 
common  phenomenon.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  left  his  family  at  home  alone,  and  he  wondered 
how  everybody  was  getting  along.  His  wish  and 
wonder  became  something  of  an  ache.  Fortunately 
Fred  was  sleeping  loudly  and  would  never  know 
what  happened. 

Whatever  it  was,  it  must  have  resulted  in  sleep, 
for  the  next  thing  he  knew  it  was  broad  day  and  the 
crinkly-cornered  eyes  of  Aunt  Mary  were  laughing 
down  upon  him. 

"Well,  Ranny,  I  declare  you  sleep  just  like  a 
Dukes.  Get  up,  boys;  breakfast  is  ready." 

Presently  there  were  noises  in  Dorothy's  room 
indicating  that  a  person  who  slept  like  a  Crane 
should  stop  doing  so  and  get  up. 

At  breakfast  Uncle  Abner  introduced  an  em 
barrassing  topic. 

"You  weren't  homesick  or  anything  last  night, 
Ranny?" 

Fred,  happily,  was  absorbed  in  the  question  of  how 
much  syrup  a  pancake  would  hold. 

"No,"  replied  Ranny,  unconvincingly,  "not 
hardly." 

5  55 


RANNY 

"That's  good.  Fred  wasn't  homesick  the  first 
night,  either" — (squirming  by  the  "caution") — "not 
hardly." 

Ranny  laughed  with  pure  relief.  Fred  had  prob 
ably  cried  like  a  baby. 

The  honor  of  the  family  might  have  rested  there, 
while  the  delights  of  the  pie-shaped  farm  were  being 
investigated,  but  after  breakfast  Jake,  having  put 
on  his  straw  hat  and  his  other  personality,  took  up 
the  matter  again. 

"You  hadn't  oughta  let  them  two  cousins  come 
here  at  the  same  time,  Dot.  There'll  be  trouble 
before  the  day's  over." 

Fred  and  Ranny  glared  at  each  other.  Dorothy 
smoothed  out  her  skirt  and  suggested  that  all  hands 
go  down  to  the  river.  Hostilities  were  averted  again, 
but  all  that  crowded  forenoon,  whether  they  were 
throwing  stones  into  the  stream  which  formed  the 
crust  of  the  piece  of  pie,  or  swinging  from  the  hay- 
carrier  in  the  big  barn,  or  sitting  chauffeur- wise  upon 
assorted  machinery  in  the  implement-shed,  or  in 
specting  the  old  woods  or  the  young  lambs,  the  case 
of  Crane  vs.  Dukes  was  with  them  always.  Fred 
was  constantly  boasting  about  his  prowess  and  that 
of  blood  relations  unknown  to  Ranny,  and  yet  if 
Ranny  merely  remarked  in  an  inoffensive  way  that 
there  was  nothing  especially  wonderful  about  Cranes 
as  compared  with  Dukeses,  Fred  got  angry. 

56 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

By  noontime  Dorothy's  smile  had  worn  very  thin. 
Ranny  heard  her  ask  Aunt  Mary,  ' '  How  long  are  the 
boys  going  to  be  here  ?"  The  answer  was  not  audible, 
but  Dorothy's  face  was  that  of  one  who  has  just 
received  bad  news. 

At  the  dinner-table  Dorothy  proposed  the  highest- 
known  form  of  entertainment. 

"May  we  go  to  the  tile-mill  this  afternoon?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  suppose  so,"  Aunt  Mary  replied. 
"Be  careful  and  don't  hurt  yourselves  on  the  car." 

"Or  fall  in  the  creek,"  added  Uncle  Abner. 

"No,  we  won't,"  Dorothy  promised  on  behalf  of 
the  trio. 

Jake  was  in  his  harmless  personality,  and  could  do 
nothing  but  look  depressed. 

"Remember,  Dot,"  was  Aunt  Mary's  parting 
word,  "Ranny  and  Fred  are  the  visitors.  Play 
nicely,  and  let  them  have  their  way  sometimes." 

For  a  season  it  looked  as  though  Dorothy's  trump 
card  had  won;  the  delights  of  the  tile-mill  (now 
deserted  because  of  the  exhaustion  of  the  supply  of 
clay)  were  so  transcendent  that  rival  families  dwelt 
together  in  harmony.  The  roomy,  shed-like  struc 
ture,  standing  beside  a  creek  at  the  extreme  eastern 
edge  of  the  farm,  contained  a  number  of  little  com 
partments  that  would  have  been  invaluable  for  hide- 
and-seek  purposes  had  there  not  been  a  higher  and 
nobler  sport  at  hand — namely,  railroading.  For 

57 


RANNY 

down  the  center  of  the  shed  and  out  upon  a  low 
trestle  through  the  open  door  ran  a  wooden  track 
for  a  flat-car  with  genuine  iron  wheels.  The  motive 
power  was  the  human  leg,  but  he  who  pushed  the 
car  could  easily  drop  upon  his  stomach  from  time  to 
time  and  take  pleasant  little  rides. 

Dorothy  was  a  marvel  of  diplomacy  and  self- 
effacement.  As  a  working  compromise  she  proposed 
the  M.  &  L.  Railroad,  Manchester  being  the  inside 
terminal,  and  Lakeville  the  bumper  at  the  outer 
end  of  the  trestle.  The  management  made  a  point 
of  running  into  this  open-air  city  with  something  of 
a  bang.  Dorothy  accepted  an  ignominious  but  com 
fortable  position  as  a  passenger,  paying  imaginary 
fares  for  real  rides,  while  her  troublesome  cousins 
were  alternately  the  noble  conductor  and  the  lordly 
engineer.  The  traveling  public  exhibited  the  proper 
amount  of  restlessness,  and,  no  matter  which  city  she 
was  in,  promptly  wished  to  be  transported  to  the 
other,  often  without  abandoning  her  seat  in  the  center 
of  the  car.  All  parties,  professional  and  amateur, 
were  expected  to  yell  at  bumpy  places  and  to  whoop 
at  the  terminals.  Ranny  had  never  experienced  a 
louder  or  more  enjoyable  time. 

Perhaps  the  edge  of  the  diversion  was  beginning  to 
grow  dull,  but  it  was  Fred  who  brought  the  afternoon 
to  ruin.  It  was  he  who  conceived  the  hilarious  idea 
that  a  conductor  should  be  polite  to  ladies. 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

"How  do,  Miss  Crane?"  he  said,  gruffly,  bowing  as 
gracefully  as  his  position  on  his  knees  at  the  front  end 
of  the  swaying  car  would  permit.  "Where  ja  wanta 
go?" 

"I  want  to  go  to  Manchester  very  much." 

Taking  advantage  of  her  need,  the  conductor  said, 
"Ten  dollars,"  and  punched  a  mythical  ticket. 
Engineer  Ranny,  seeing  this  performance,  broke  all 
speed  records  to  Manchester  in  order  to  put  his  new 
idea  into  effect  as  quickly  as  possible.  On  the  return 
trip  Conductor  Ranny  made  an  almost  fatal  bow, 
but  saved  himself,  and  asked,  "How  do,  Miss 
Dukes?" 

At  this  point  the  engineer  went  on  strike  and  the 
train  stopped. 

"Her  name  ain't  Dukes,"  said  Fred.  "What's 
the  matter  with  ya?" 

"'Tis,  too.     I  guess  I'm  the  conductor." 

"'Tain't,  either.     Is  it,  Dot?" 

But  the  traveler  did  not  propose  to  become  in 
volved  in  the  crew's  disagreements. 

"It's  no  matter  what  my  name  is.  I  want  to  go 
to  Lakeville."  Dorothy  affected  the  hopeless  look 
of  one  upon  whom  the  habit  of  going  to  Lakeville 
has  been  fastened  in  early  life. 

Fred  took  hold  of  the  rolling  stock  of  the  M.  &  L. 
Railroad  as  if  to  pull  it  back  toward  his  favorite 
terminal,  but  Ranny  tugged  the  other  way.  The 

59 


RANNY 

result  was  the  worst  tie-up  in  the  history  of  the  line. 
Failing  to  get  the  train,  Ranny  laid  hands  upon  out 
lying  portions  of  the  traveling  public — more  specifi 
cally,  Dorothy's  feet.  In  rebuttal  Fred  seized  the 
unfortunate  passenger  under  the  arms.  The  public- 
service  corporation  braced  its  various  knees  against 
the  ends  of  the  train  and  pulled.  Just  what  either 
of  them  wanted  with  Dorothy  was  not  clear,  but  a  by 
stander  might  have  thought  they  were  trying  to 
divide  their  mutual  cousin  into  her  component 
hereditary  parts. 

Even  a  passenger  will  turn.  The  wrath  which 
Dorothy  had  been  storing  in  her  batteries  all  day 
came  forth  with  galvanic  upheaval.  In  its  broader 
outlines  her  plan  seemed  to  be  to  strike  Fred  at  any 
convenient  place  with  her  fists  and  to  kick  her 
maternal  relative  in  the  stomach.  The  railroaders 
fell  back  baffled;  and  just  as  things  looked  darkest 
for  the  M.  &  L.  system  its  financial  support  slipped 
away  and  started  for  home. 

Ranny  was  so  scandalized  by  this  inhospitable 
conduct  that  when  his  breath  came  back  his  speech 
lost  all  restraint .  ' '  Doggon  her ! "  he  gasped.  ' '  Her 
mother  told  her  to  play  nice!" 

"She  hadn't  ought  to  hit  a  fella  in  the  nose,"  said 
the  scion  of  the  house  of  Crane. 

Abandoning  the  bankrupt  line,  they  set  off  in 
pursuit.  The  culprit  had  secured  something  of  a 

60 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

start,  but  it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  wasting  time 
in  a  detour,  and  that  clever  people  could  cut  across 
the  low,  bumpy  ground  nearer  the  creek  and  head 
her  off.  Fred,  being  a  little  in  advance,  was  the  one 
to  get  into  the  swamp  and  fall  down.  Warned  by 
this  amusing  disaster,  Ranny  took  a  middle  course 
consisting  largely  of  blackberry  brambles  hostile  to 
bare  legs.  When  he  finally  emerged  upon  high 
ground  Dorothy  was  out  of  sight  and  Fred  was  trying 
to  wash  off  the  muck  at  the  creek  without  violating 
Uncle  Abner's  instructions  about  falling  in. 

Not  caring  for  his  society,  Ranny  went  back  to  the 
house  by  a  procedure  of  his  own,  consisting  in  part  of 
tearing  his  trousers  on  a  barbed-wire  fence,  of  getting 
lost  for  a  season  in  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and  finally 
of  being  frightened  by  a  cow  which  had  no  business 
getting  up  so  suddenly  when  a  person  was  going 
past.  During  what  remained  of  the  afternoon  two 
boys  could  be  observed  popping  in  and  out  of  widely 
separated  sheds  and  stables,  obviously  unaware  of 
each  other's  existence.  Dorothy  had  apparently 
adopted  a  girl's  prerogative  of  staying  in  the  house. 
When  the  supper-bell  sounded,  Ranny's  body, 
slightly  scratched,  was  in  a  loft  over  the  corn-crib, 
but  his  untrammeled  soul  was  in  Lakeville  with  Tom 
Rucker  and  "Fatty"  Hartman  and  such  sprightly 
non-relations. 

That  evening  three  strangers  graced  Aunt  Mary's 

6j 


RANNY 

table — strangers,  that  is,  to  one  another.  They  were 
addressed  by  their  host  in  such  terms  as:  "Have 
some  more  beans,  Fred  ?  You,  Dot  ?  Ranny,  you're 
not  eating."  The  unnatural  silence  finally  proved  to 
be  too  much  for  Uncle  Abner.  "What's  the  matter 
here,  anyway?  You  folks  had  a  falling  out?" 

Dorothy  shattered  another  of  Ranny's  favorite 
ideas — that  girls  are  always  tattle-tales.  Fred  con 
fined  his  gaze  to  edibles,  and  Jake  shook  his  head  as 
one  whose  worst  fears  have  been  realized.  Ranny 
was  overwhelmed  with  the  futility  of  life;  the  re 
maining  days  of  his  visit  stretched  out  bleak  and 
endless  before  him.  He  did  not  speak,  but  out  of  a 
number  of  possible  courses  he  chose  the  worst.  The 
grief  that  was  in  his  heart  rose  to  his  throat  and 
clogged  it  up,  then  overflowed  through  his  eyes. 
With  a  sob  that  tried  unsuccessfully  to  be  a  cough  he 
slid  from  his  chair  and  left  the  room  by  the  stairway 
door.  A  moment  later  he  was  gazing  out  of  the 
window  of  the  guest  bedroom,  but  seeing  nothing  of 
any  value.  Presently  the  door  opened  and  admitted 
the  only  admirable  character  for  miles  around. 

"Won't  you  tell  me  about  it,  Ranny?  Maybe  I 
can  straighten  things  out."  The  laughter  was  gone 
from  Aunt  Mary's  eyes  now,  but  there  was  something 
appealing  and  comforting  in  its  place.  Yet  it 
proved  hard  to  put  the  trouble  into  words. 

"Fred  says — the  farm  an'   horses  an'   Dot  an' 

62 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

ever'thing  b 'longs  to  Uncle  Abner.  He  says  Cranes 
is  stouter  'n  Dukeses — an'  slings  better,  an'  Man 
chester's  bigger  'n  Lakeville,  an'  he  thinks  he's  so 
smart." 

"I  see,"  said  Aunt  Mary.  "And  what  does  Dot 
say  about  it?" 

"Nothin'.  We  pulled  her  a  little  an'  she  got  mad 
at  me  an'  Fred  an'  went  home."  It  was  not  for  him 
to  reveal  Dorothy's  unladylike  act  of  kicking  a  con 
ductor  in  the  stomach. 

"Who  started  the  trouble  about  Cranes  and 
Dukeses,  anyway?" 

"I — I  guess  it  was  Jake." 

"Oh,  I  see."  Aunt  Mary  seemed  relieved  at  this 
news.  "Your  uncle  Abner  will  have  to  give  Jake 
a  talking  to." 

"Uncle  Abner  'd  be  scared." 

"No,  Ranny,  you've  made  a  mistake  about  Uncle 
Abner.  He  gets  embarrassed  when  he  has  to  talk 
to  people,  but  he  goes  ahead  just  the  same.  I  don't 
suppose  there's  a  farmer  for  five  miles  around  that 
Uncle  Abner  hasn't  helped  in  some  way." 

Ranny  remembered  without  enthusiasm  yester 
day's  encounter  with  "Henry."  Nothing  mattered 
now.  Aunt  Mary,  whom  he  had  counted  upon,  had 
gone  over  to  the  Crane  camp  and  was  shamelessly 
praising  her  husband. 

"Your  uncle  Abner  always  was  a  little  shy." 

63 


RANNY 

Aunt  Mary  was  smiling  now  as  one  who  remembers 
something.  "A  long  time  ago,  when  I  was  a  girl 
and  your  uncle  was  a  young  man,  he  got  the  habit 
of  coming  over  to  our  house.  He  didn't  tell  any 
body  why  he  came,  but  I  had  a  pretty  good  idea. 
One  spring  night  he  started  over  to  ask  me  a  very 
important  question,  but  when  he  got  near  our  gate 
he  lost  his  courage  and  ran  for  the  woods."  Aunt 
Mary  chuckled  softly  and  Ranny  dropped  into  the 
chair  by  the  window.  This  was  rapidly  developing 
into  a  very  good  story.  "I  guess  he  thought  he'd 
be  safe  from  me  there.  It  was  very  dark  in  the 
woods,  but  he  went  in  farther  and  farther,  and  at  last 
he  heard  a  cry  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  He  fol 
lowed  the  sound  and  kept  answering  until  he  reached 
the  bank.  The  cry  for  help  seemed  to  come  from  the 
middle  of  the  river,  which  was  rushing  very  fast,  as 
it  does  in  the  spring.  He  plunged  into  the  pitch- 
black  water  and  swam  toward  the  voice;  he  found 
a  boy  clinging  to  a  snag  and  almost  ready  to  let  go. 
Abner  Crane  got  the  boy  out  and  carried  him  home. 
The  boy  was  about  sixteen  then ;  he  was  my  younger 
brother.  He's  a  big  man  now,  and  runs  a  wagon 
factory,  and  has  a  boy  named  Ranny." 

"Father!" 

"Yes,  Ranny.  Nobody  in  our  family  ever  called 
Abner  Crane  afraid  after  that  night." 

Gazing  thoughtfully  out  of  the  window,  with  his 

64 


AUNT    MARY,    PREFERRED 

face  resting  upon  one  hand,  Ranny  scarcely  sensed 
Aunt  Mary's  noiseless  departure  from  the  room. 
He  was  reveling  in  relaxed  responsibility — the  honor 
of  the  family  had  been  taken  care  of  long  before  he 
was  born.  He  could  make  peace  with  Fred  now; 
Dorothy  could  be  a  Crane  to  her  heart's  content. 
Suddenly  his  mind  went  racing  over  the  long,  dusty 
miles  to  Lakeville — for  what  is  glory  unless  they 
know  about  it  in  the  home  town?  A  county  line 
and  a  pie-shaped  farm,  a  river  and  a  tile-mill  and 
a  girl  that  throws  like  a  boy — these  things  were  all 
very  fine  in  their  way.  But  the  best  thing  about 
Aunt  Mary  was  Uncle  Abner. 

Ranny  returned  from  his  mental  wanderings  to  the 
sound  of  a  stifled  little  giggle  and  the  touch  of  a 
pair  of  soft  hands  clapped  over  his  eyes. 

"Dot!"  he  guessed,  amiably. 

His  cousin  laughingly  released  him  and  stepped 
back,  revealing  Fred,  who  seemed  to  be  struggling 
with  impending  speech. 

"Hey,  Ranny,"  he  said,  in  his  low,  solemn  tones, 
"I  know  a  fine  trick  we  c'n  play  on  ol'  Jake." 


IV 

PARTY    LINES 

RANNY  had  been  accumulating  experience  for 
eight-going-on-nine  years  and  thought  he  had 
the  main  facts  of  life  pretty  well  under  control,  but 
it  was  not  until  one  breathless  August  day  of  bands 
and  bunting  and  a  lemonade-stand  at  which  they 
gave  one  very  little  for  a  nickel,  that  he  learned  of 
that  high  wall  that  divides  the  world  into  two  classes, 
Our  Party  and  the  Enemies  of  Society.  For  a  week 
rumors  had  been  trickling  in  upon  Ranny's  dusty 
field  of  activities  that  this  Thursday  was  to  be  some 
how  superior  to  all  other  possible  Thursdays;  bill 
boards  admitted  as  much,  and  the  Bulletin  had 
been  hammering  at  the  matter  night  after  night. 
A  great  man — a  Senator,  in  fact — was  to  come  and 
sound  the  key-note,  and  there  was  to  be  such  an  out 
pouring,  the  Bulletin  said,  of  the  friends  of  prosperity 
and  law  and  order  and  the  flag  and  those  who  re 
membered  Valley  Forge,  as  would  sweep  the  county 
into  the  victorious  ranks  of  righteousness  on  the 
sixth  day  of  next  November.  Ranny  remembered 

66 


PARTY    LINES 


Valley  Forge  perfectly,  but  he  had  been  occupied 
of  late  with  the  activities  of  a  hoop-rolling  club 
and  had  not  given  these  more  remote  matters  the 
attention  they  seemed  to  deserve.  Upon  the  morn 
ing  of  Thursday  itself  an  event  occurred  which  con 
vinced  Ranny  of  its  unique  place  in  history. 

"Well,"  said  Father,  as  the  Dukes  breakfast  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  "there's  a  lot  going  on  to-day. 
I  suppose  a  young  politician  must  have  money  to 
spend." 

To  Ranny 's  gratified  amazement  Father  reached 
into  his  pocket  and  delivered  over  a  quarter.  And 
though  Mother  tried  to  destroy  the  value  of  the  gift 
by  hedging  it  about  with  conditions — such  as  not 
eating  too  much  and  getting  sick — the  young 
politician  was  of  no  use  in  practical  affairs  until  he 
had  broken  home  ties  and  started  off  in  search  of 
band  music.  On  the  way  down-town  he  encountered 
TomRueker,  who  cheerfully  agreed  to  help  him  spend 
his  money. 

The  largest  voluntary  donation  in  Ranny's  memory 
should  have  prepared  him  for  anything,  yet  he  was 
astounded  at  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in 
the  business  section  of  Lakeville.  Bunting  adorned 
the  store-fronts  and  a  great  flag  was  suspended  from 
the  Bulletin  office  over  the  street,  bearing  at  its 
lower  end  the  slogan,  "Perkins  and  Prosperity." 
A  lemonade-stand  had  sprouted  mushroom-like  at 

67 


RANNY 

the  curb,  and  upon  the  court-house  lawn  men  were 
putting  eleventh-hour  touches  upon  a  speaker's 
stand  and  benches  of  fragrant  yellow  lumber,  with  a 
by-product  of  sticks  and  sawdust.  At  the  most 
important  corner  the  "Jamestown  Silver  Cornet 
Band"  (a  person  had  to  invert  himself  to  read  it  all 
on  the  bass  drum)  stood  in  a  circle  dispensing  melody, 
and  here,  before  half  an  hour  had  passed,  Ranny 
fraternized  with  all  the  youth  of  his  wide  acquaint 
ance  and  several  total  strangers  who  wore  shoes  and 
stockings.  Although  they  came  from  another  town, 
these  fops  were  not  insulted,  but  only  stared  at; 
at  festive  times  the  ordinary  duties  of  life  may  be 
neglected.  Boys  whom  Ranny  knew  intimately  in 
private  life  were  holding  sheets  of  music  and  osten 
tatiously  ignoring  the  friends  of  humbler  days.  One 
of  these  animated  music-racks  was  "Fatty"  Hart- 
man,  who  danced  attendance  upon  a  slide-trombone 
player.  "Fatty's"  soul  was  really  with  the  bass- 
drummer  across  the  circle;  his  head  was  turned 
in  almost  the  opposite  direction  from  that  of  na 
ture's  plan  and  his  hands  did  very  much  as  they 
pleased.  As  a  result  "Fatty"  was  not  only  poked 
slightly,  but  at  the  end  of  the  "Washington  Post 
March ' '  was  relieved  of  further  responsibilities.  The 
trombonist  held  that  no  human  being  could  read 
music  waved  about  in  that  eccentric  way.  "Wadda 
you  think  I  am,"  he  said  in  part,  "a  giraffe?" 

63 


PARTY   LINES 


Pulling  Tom  aside,  Ranny  proposed  that  they  set 
about  the  main  business  of  the  day.  Tom  was  all 
for  Lem  White's  ice-cold  lemonade. 

"They  ain't  very  big,"  said  Ranny,  regarding  the 
sample  glasses  set  out  upon  the  counter. 

Tom  admitted  that  charge. 

"Have  some  candy,  then,"  said  the  vender,  who 
was  pouring  some  alluring  pink  paint  over  a  rope  of 
taffy. 

They  indulged  in  taffy  and  in  the  ensuing  thirst 
they  also  bought  lemonade.  This  they  found  as 
lacking  in  strength  as  in  quantity. 

"Le's  go  over  to  the  pump  and  git  another  one," 
said  the  guest,  with  brutal  frankness. 

"What  do  you  want  for  a  nickel?"  asked  the 
irritable  Lem  White,  who  at  less  stirring  times 
worked  in  the  livery-stable  and  found  politics  some 
thing  of  a  nervous  strain.  "Some  people  makes  me 
tired." 

This  speech  cost  him  dearly,  for  his  late  patrons 
stood  about  for  some  time  warning  young  spend 
thrifts  that  Lem's  lemonade  was  no  bargain. 

When  Tom  and  Ranny  had  nothing  left  to  spend 
but  time  they  rejoined  their  companions.  Train 
No.  9,  welcomed  in  person,  proved  to  contain  a 
great  delegation  from  near-by  villages,  including 
another  band.  The  band  had  to  be  marched  with 
back  to  the  public  square  and  compared  unfavorably 

69 


RANNY 

with  that  of  Jamestown.  At  a  quarter  to  twelve 
the  rumor  was  passed  about  that  free  buttons  could 
be  obtained  at  the  Young  Men's  Perkins  Club. 
Ranny  went  home  to  a  perfunctory  dinner  with  an 
itchy  feeling  in  the  neck-band,  due  to  sawdust,  a 
lack  of  interest  in  food,  and  a  button  proclaiming 
that  he  was  for  Perkins  and  Prosperity. 

Two  o'clock  found  Lakeville's  rarest  spirits 
crowded  upon  the  top  of  a  freight-car  upon  a  siding 
near  the  depot.  Ranny  suddenly  noticed  that  there 
was  something  the  matter  with  Tom. 

"Hey,  where's  your  button?"  he  asked. 

"Aw,  my  father  wouldn't  let  me  wear  it.  I  ain't 
for  Perkins.  I'm  for  Chan'ler." 

Ranny  searched  the  familiar  freckled  face,  half 
expecting  the  fancy  movable  ears  to  give  a  derisive 
"wiggle."  But  Tom  was  incredibly  serious. 

"Why  ain't  you  f'r  Perkins?"  Ranny  asked. 

"He's  a  tool  of  the  int'res'.  My  father  said  so 
his  own  self." 

"I  bet  he  ain't." 

"What '11  you  bet?" 

Ranny  wagered  a  nominal  million  and  appealed 
to  Bud  Hicks,  a  political  authority  who  wore  upon 
his  blouse  three  Perkins-and-Prosperity  buttons  as 
well  as  one  which  inquired.  "Is  it  hot  enough  for 
you?" 

"Aw,  whatcha  talkin'  about?"  Bud  demanded  of 

70 


PARTY    LINES 


the  luckless  Tom.  "Course  not."  A  straw  vote  of 
the  top  of  the  box-car  revealed  not  one  person  who 
would  believe  evil  of  their  favorite  candidates, 
Perkins  and  Prosperity. 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  button?"  asked  Bud, 
the  prominent  collector. 

Tom  produced  the  emblem  and  traded  it  for  Bud's 
innocuous  remark  about  the  weather.  Bud  was 
now  for  Perkins  and  Prosperity  three  times  on  his 
blouse  and  once  on  his  cap. 

The  great  man  came  at  last  in  a  special  train  which 
exercised  its  right  to  be  late.  The  home  band 
which  led  the  procession  to  the  court-house  yard 
had  a  drum  -  major  whose  unseasonable  fur  hat 
was  the  highest  that  had  been  seen  in  town  that 
day. 

The  boys,  by  superior  squirming  and  dodging,  got 
excellent  seats  at  the  very  front  where  they  could 
hear  every  word  if  they  cared  for  that  sort  of  thing. 
A  glee  club  poked  delicious  fun  at  Tom  Rucker's 
candidate,  and  a  man  of  local  renown  made  a  speech 
of  introduction.  This  was  "Colonel"  Bacon,  who 
wagged  his  head  earnestly;  he  seemed  to  shake  out 
his  words  as  one  shakes  balls  out  of  a  Roman  candle. 
Finally  the  sounder  of  key-notes  arose. 

"The  remarks  of  your  chairman,"  he  began,  when 
quiet  was  restored,  "remind  me  of  the  story  of  the 
Irishman—  Ranny  did  not  get  the  full  meaning 
6  71 


RANNY 

of  the  joke,  but  joined  the  freight-car  contingent 
in  the  applause. 

The  applause,  however,  was  not  unanimous.  Tom 
refused  to  be  swept  away  from  his  hereditary  prin 
ciples  by  mere  oratory.  In  fact,  after  the  great  man 
had  slumped  into  exports  and  imports  and  national 
debts,  Tom  went  so  far  as  to  say : 

"Le's  git  out;  this  ain't  no  good." 

Bud  Hicks  also  found  that  he  had  all  the  states 
manship  his  system  craved  and  there  was  a  general 
exodus  of  squirmers  and  dodgers.  But  Ranny,  who 
did  not  take  his  convictions  lightly,  elected  to  stay 
and  suffer  for  Perkins  and  Prosperity. 

It  was  no  easy  martyrdom.  The  afternoon  was 
torrid,  the  great  man  floundered  in  statistics,  and 
little  creatures  came  up  out  of  the  grass  and  bit  the 
ankles  of  the  friends  of  law  and  order  and  Valley 
Forge.  Ranny  was  almost  ready  to  surrender  when 
suddenly  he  detected  a  new  quality  in  the  Senator's 
address,  a  quavery  and  shivery  note : 

"And  when,  on  the  sixth  day  of  next  November, 
the  sun  sinks  to  rest  behind  the  western  hills — 
It  was  glorious  and  thrilling  and  it  ended  in  a  tumult 
of  applause.  The  great  man  himself  sank  to  rest, 
the  glee  club  predicted  overwhelming  victory,  and 
Ranny  was  free  to  associate  with  merely  pleasant 
people. 

In  the  late  afternoon  in  front  of  the  hitherto 

72 


PARTY    LINES 


attractive  Rucker  homestead  he  made  one  last  appeal 
to  the  better  side  of  Tom's  nature. 

"Aw,  come  on  an'  be  f'r  Perkins,"  he  said.  "No 
body  ain't  f'r  Chan'ler." 

"They  are,  too." 

"Who?" 

"Lots  of  people." 

"Jus"  tell  me  one." 

"My  father  an' — lots  of  people." 

"If  you  ain't  f'r  Perkins  you'll  be  sorry — that's 
all." 

"What  '11  you  do?"  asked  Tom,  scornfully. 

"It's  all  right  what  I'll  do."  Ranny  was  sparring 
for  time.  ' '  You'll  find  out  soon  enough. ' ' 

The  next  morning  Tom  was  missing  from  the  ac 
tivities  of  the  hoop-rolling  association  of  which  he 
was  a  prominent  member.  The  object  of  the  or 
ganization  was  to  conduct  races,  preferably  over  the 
bumpy  place  in  Webber's  cement  sidewalk.  Tom 
had  been  an  ornament  to  this  •  diversion ;  he  could 
go  fast  or  slow,  and  he  was  an  artist  at  turning  cor 
ners.  His  absence  hurt  the  sport,  but  it  led  to  a 
great  idea. 

"Who  you  for?"  Ranny  asked  "Fatty"  Hartman, 
who  on  this  hot  morning  was  only  a  theoretical  hoop- 
roller.  From  his  recumbent  position  ' '  Fatty ' '  ranged 
himself  upon  the  side  of  law  and  order.  There  was 
no  point  in  asking  Bud  Hicks,  for  Bud  had  un- 

73 


RANNY 

earthed  further  Perkins  and  Prosperity  buttons  and 
a  badge  marked,  "Usher."  Ted  Blake,  a  doubtful 
non- voter,  was  open  to  conviction. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Ranny,  "le's  be  the—  I  tell 
you—" 

"Well,  tell  us,"  said  "Fatty,"  tolerantly. 

' '  Listen  a  minute,  can't  you  ?  Le's  be  the  Perkins 
an'  Prosper'ty  Hoop  Club." 

"Whatta  we  hafta  do?"  asked  "Fatty." 

The  object  of  the  new  society  seemed  to  be  to  keep 
traitors  from  enjoying  life. 

"Nobody  can't  belong  if  they  ain't  f'r  Perkins," 
Ranny  explained — "Tom  Rucker,  or  anybody  like 
that." 

Ted  Blake  accepted  membership  on  condition  that 
Bud  Hicks  give  him  a  button,  his  own  having  been 
sold  for  a  mess  of  pottage.  Ted  volunteered  to  in 
form  Tom  of  his  non-election  to  the  new  club.  Tom 
sent  back  word  that  he  didn't  care  in  the  least, 
that  they  all  thought  they  were  smart,  and  that 
Chandler  was  the  people's  champion. 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  said  Ranny.  "Where'd  he  hear 
that?" 

"He  said  it  was  in  the  News,"  Ted  reported. 

"That  paper  ain't  no  good,"  said  Bud.  "It  only 
comes  out  once  a  week.  They  don't  have  carriers 
or  anything.  A  big  boy  turns  the  printin' -press  by 
hand." 

74 


PARTY    LINES 


All  enjoyed  hearty  snickers  at  the  absurd  little 
sheet  with  its  boy-power  press,  and  the  work  of 
building  up  the  new  organization  was  begun.  Every 
youth  who  came  along  was  asked,  "Who  you  for?" 
and,  if  satisfactory,  was  taken  into  the  club.  Clar 
ence  Raleigh  was  not  sure,  but  would  go  home  and 
ask  his  mother.  He  never  came  back,  either  be 
cause  his  political  complexion  was  wrong  or  be 
cause  his  mother  didn't  want  him  to  become  over 
heated. 

Along  with  recruiting  went  racing,  practising,  and 
informal  yelling.  When  Mr.  Webber  came  home 
from  the  store  at  twelve  he  seemed  to  regard  the 
breach  of  the  peace  as  excessive. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  asked.  "There's  too  much 
hullabaloo  around  here." 

"This  is  the  Perkins  an'  Prosper 'ty  Hoop  Club," 
said  Ranny.  "We're — we're  having  a  meeting." 

"Sounds  more  like  a  whoop  club,"  said  Mr. 
Webber,  but  his  face  relaxed,  and  he  made  no  further 
protest  against  hullabaloo.  Evidently  Mr.  Webber 
was  not  only  a  reliable  druggist,  but  sound  po 
litically. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  doubly  reliable  druggist  who 
carried  the  good  news  down-town.  At  any  rate,  the 
Bulletin  paid  tribute  to  the  new  organization  in  a 
short  article  entitled,  "Rolling  on  to  Victory,"  in 
which  the  Republic  was  pronounced  out  of  danger, 

75 


RANNY      ' 

not  only  this  year,  but  in  the  future.  The  rising 
generation  had  its  eyes  open;  the  forces  of  disrup 
tion  would  find  no  comfort  there.  The  Bulletin 
furthermore  supposed  that  the  Perkins  and  Prosper 
ity  Hoop  Club  would  henceforth  be  found  in  the 
parades  of  the  friends  of  progress. 

The  parade  idea  was  well  received  by  Randolph 
Harrington  Dukes.  "Could  we  do  it?"  he  asked 
Father  that  night  as  the  article  was  being  read  and 
reread. 

Father  pretended  that  the  thing  was  highly  un 
likely,  but  undid  all  his  work  by  agreeing  to  supply 
bunting  with  which  the  patriots  were  to  wrap  their 
hoops  in  case  of  parade.  Henceforth  Ranny  searched 
the  paper  for  news  of  rallies,  key-notes,  and  out 
pourings. 

For  a  time  Perkins  and  Prosperity  rolled  on  with 
out  hindrance.  The  hoop  club  prospered  and  Tom's 
attempt  to  get  up  a  rival  among  the  friends  of  the 
people  met  with  gratifying  failure.  But  when 
August  gave  way  to  September  and  nights  were  be 
ginning  to  be  cool  and  education  was  mobilizing  its 
grim  hosts,  there  was  a  rude  awakening  for  country- 
savers. 

The  first  intimation  of  trouble  came  from  Father. 
"Better  stay  around  home  to-day,"  he  said  one 
morning.  "There  will  be  a  lot  of  rough  characters 
in  town." 

76 


PARTY    LINES 


"What's  goin'  on?"  asked  Ranny,  who  had  seen 
nothing  in  the  Bulletin  to  justify  alarm. 

"There's  a  Chandler  rally,"  said  Father.  "This 
is  Tom  Rucker's  day,  not  yours." 

Ranny  got  out  his  hoop  for  patriotic  exercises,  but 
instead  of  companions  he  got  only  strains  of  distant 
music.  To  be  sure,  it  was  not  his  day — but  bands 
are  bands  and  patriots  are  partly  human. 

"I  s'pose  I  could  go  down-town  a  little  bit,"  he 
said  to  Mother,  "jus*  to  see  what  the  ol'  thing  looks 
like.  I  bet  it's  no  good." 

Mother  had  a  special  form  of  laugh  for  jokes  upon 
Father  and  she  employed  it  now. 

"Well,  I'm  sure  Father  wouldn't  mind.  But  look 
out  for  the  rough  characters." 

So  Ranny,  resolved  to  be  scornful  of  everything, 
started  down-town  to  see  how  the  other  half  lived. 

The  few  familiar  blocks  had  taken  on  an  ominous 
air.  The  streets  were  full  of  rough  characters  driv 
ing  in  from  the  country  in  dusty  teams  and  auto 
mobiles.  If  he  had  not  known  better,  Ranny  might 
have  thought  that  these  characters  looked  strangely 
like  those  who  came  to  town  for  Saturday  trading  and 
very  little  rougher  than  those  of  the  celebrated 
Thursday.  Far -worse  was  the  display  of  bunting 
and  Chandler  pictures  in  the  homes  of  people  hitherto 
supposed  loyal  to  the  Republic — homes  where  Ranny 
had  come  and  gone  safely  for  years.  There  was  the 

77 


RANNY 

house  of  Mr.  Harrington,  who  was  a  kind  of  relation 
to  Mother,  though  of  a  nature  too  complicated  to  be 
understood.  As  long  as  Ranny  could  remember  he 
and  Mr.  Harrington  had  possessed  a  joke  in  common ; 
the  genial  elderly  man  always  threatened  to  cut  off 
Ranny's  ears,  but  while  searching  vainly  for  his  ear- 
cutter  as  often  as  not  he  found  a  penny.  Ranny  re 
solved  never  to  play  this  game  with  Mr.  Harrington 
again.  If  the  man  had  turned  against  his  country — ! 

The  morning  was  one  long  disillusion.  The 
Chandlerites  made  shameless  use  of  the  flag,  the 
court-house  yard,  and  the  railroad.  Lem  White 
sold  weak  lemonade  to  the  unjust  as  well  as  the  just. 
Only  the  Bulletin  office  was  loyally  unaware  that 
anything  was  going  on. 

On  the  street  corner  the  venal  Jamestown  Silver 
Cornet  Band  was  playing  the  same  old  tunes.  And 
what  was  Ranny's  horror  to  find  "Fatty"  Hartman 
holding  sheet-music  for  the  enemies  of  society. 
"Fatty"  was  now  working  for  an  unimportant  horn 
that  went  oom  blah,  oom  blah.  To  his  exacting  duties 
he  brought  all  his  native  lack  of  concentration  and 
of  musical  talent.  His  discharge  from  the  band 
was  all  that  saved  his  membership  in  the  hoop  club. 

But  Ranny's  effort  to  discipline  erring1  hoop-rollers 
broke  down  completely  over  the  distressing  case 
of  Bud  Hicks.  That  exterior  decorator  had  found 
the  source  of  Chandler  buttons.  Bud  was  now  for 

78 


BUD  WAS  NOW  FOR  PERKINS  ON  THE  LEFT  SIDE  OF  HIS  JACKET,  BUT 
STOOD    WITH    CHANDLER   ON   THE    RIGHT 


PARTY    LINES 


Perkins  and  Prosperity  on  the  left  side  of  his  jacket, 
but  stood  with  Chandler  and  the  people  on  the  right. 
The  best  that  Ranny  could  get  out  of  him  was  a 
whispered  admission  that  he  was  still  for  good 
government. 

It  was  impossible  not  to  see  how  Tom  Rucker  was 
carrying  on.  Tom  was  spending  money  like  water. 
He  haunted  the  buttered-popcorn  wagon  and  came 
back  again  and  again  for  peanuts  in  the  one-cent  size. 
Once  he  was  discovered  coming  out  of  Alleston's 
grocery-store  with  a  blissful  and  lumpy  face.  Ran 
ny 's  too  tolerant  companions  accepted  refreshment, 
but  the  leading  spirit  of  the  hoop  club  declined  to 
take  Chandler  candy  into  his  pure  young  system. 
Ranny  was  of  the  stuff  of  which  fanatics  are 
made. 

Being  under  no  obligation  to  suffer  statistics  on  the 
court-house  lawn,  he  spent  the  afternoon  in  the 
neighborhood  of  his  own  home.  The  entertainment 
there,  though  unobjectionable,  was  of  a  low  class. 
With  the  hoop-rollers  out  following  strange  gods,  the 
time  dragged  wearily.  The  only  light  in  the  gloom 
was  the  arrival  of  the  Evening  Bulletin,  which  as 
serted  that  although  the  fine  weather  and  the 
artificial  stimulus  of  bands  and  bunting  had  brought 
out  a  fair-sized  crowd,  there  was  a  notable  lack  of 
enthusiasm.  It  was  evident  that  the  efforts  of  the 
Chandlerites  to  stampede  the  country  by  the  ex- 

79 


RANNY 

penditure  of  vast  sums  of  money  had  already 
failed.  Fortunately  for  Ranny's  peace  of  mind,  the 
Dukes  home  was  not  one  of  those  which  contami 
nated  itself  weekly  with  the  News. 

While  the  nation's  future  hung  suspended  it 
seemed  foolish  for  the  processes  of  education  to  begin 
again,  but  the  authorities  did  not  see  things  in  that 
light  and  school  opened  as  usual.  Nor  was  Tom 
barred  from  the  class  by  his  subversive  views.  Rela 
tions  continued  strained,  but  only  upon  political 
questions.  In  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life  it  was  man 
ifestly  impossible  to  associate  only  with  persons  of 
sound  opinions. 

On  an  October  Saturday  another  great  rally  of  the 
friends  of  progress  brought  back  the  weaker  brothers 
and  the  Perkins  and  Prosperity  Hoop  Club  was  al 
lowed  to  march  in  the  parade  under  the  banner, 
"Rolling  On  to  Victory."  Rolling  did  not  prove 
entirely  practical,  owing  to  the  tendency  of  the 
bunting-covered  hoops  at  the  low  speed  to  run  off 
and  mingle  with  the  body  politic,  so  the  young  man 
in  charge  of  the  section  decreed  that  they  be  carried 
in  the  hand.  Tom  Rucker  declared  openly  at  the 
school-house  pump  on  the  following  Monday  that 
the  hoop-rolling  on  that  occasion  had  been  the  worst 
in  his  experience.  Water  was  poured  upon  Tom  for 
his  frankness. 

The  fateful  day  in  the  nation's  history  came  at  last, 

80 


PARTY    LINES 


sunshiny  and  crisp — "regular  Perkins  weather," 
Father  said,  on  the  theory  that  rough  characters 
would  come  out  on  any  kind  of  day,  but  the  better 
element  could  not  be  expected  to  save  their  country 
if  the  weather  was  inclement.  Ranny  and  his  as 
sociates  inspected  the  various  polling-places  and 
stood  about  until  chased  away  by  special  marshals 
who  thought  they  were  smart.  No  holiday  had  ever 
passed  so  slowly,  and  Ranny  thought  the  sun  was 
never  going  to  sink  to  rest  behind  the  western  hills 
—as  though  some  modern  Joshua  were  interfering 
with  astronomy. 

Supper  was  an  empty  form,  for  the  organizer  of  the 
hoop  club  had  been  granted,  for  distinguished 
services,  the  boon  of  going  with  Father  to  hear  the 
returns.  It  was  named  in  the  bond  that  if  necessary 
they  would  stay  up  until  midnight.  Father  chose 
the  rooms  of  the  Young  Men's  Perkins  Club,  which 
by  eight  o'clock  were  filled  with  the  better  element 
and  cigar  smoke.  Ranny  was  jovially  greeted  on  all 
sides  and  was  frequently  asked  whether  he  voted 
the  ticket  straight. 

When  conversation  had  succumbed  to  violent 
pounding  upon  a  table  "Colonel"  Bacon  arose  with 
a  yellow  paper  in  his  hand  and  shook  out  the  follow 
ing  words: 

"Pennsylvania:  Thirteen  precincts  out  of  twelve 
hundred  and  eighty-nine  in  Allegheny  County  give 

81 


RANNY 

Chandler  nine  hundred  and  sixty -five;  Perkins" — 
rhetorical  pause  followed  by  triumphant  blast — 
" 'two  thousand  two  hundred  and  thirty-seven!'1 

There  was  deafening  applause  to  which  Ranny 
contributed  a  voice  of  high  efficiency.  When  the 
tumult  had  subsided  somebody  wanted  to  know  how 
those  precincts  had  stood  four  years  ago,  but  the 
chairman  had  no  time  for  such  quibbles  because  the 
third  ward  of  Youngstown,  Ohio,  had  just  crawled 
upon  the  rock  of  sound  government  by  a  majority 
of  twenty-three. 

Ranny  found  himself  singularly  calm  in  the  hour 
of  triumph.  How  easy  it  was  to  save  a  country  when 
everybody  helped  a  little,  with  hoops  and  all. 
His  only  fear  now  was  that  the  thing  would  be  settled 
so  quickly  that  Father  would  take  him  home  long 
before  midnight.  In  Ranny's  ideal  world  the  nation 
would  be  saved  at  eleven  forty-five. 

Announcements  became  more  frequent  as  the 
evening  grew  older.  Sometimes  the  chairman  leafed 
through  a  number  of  telegrams  and  chose  those  from 
the  most  important  States.  Even  so  the  news  was 
not  invariably  good  and  at  times  there  were  head- 
shakings.  Once  Father  distinctly  said  to  another 
man,  "That's  bad."  Still  the  Perkins  figures  con 
tinued  to  be  both  large  and  loud.  At  this  point 
Ranny  decided  to  subject  Tom  Rucker  to  ridicule  for 
a  day  or  two  before  forgiving  him. 

82 


PARTY    LINES 


At  last  the  chairman  made  a  surprising  announce 
ment. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "it  is  growing  late  and 
most  of  us  are  tired  out  with  the  work  of  the  cam 
paign.  I  suggest  that  we  repair  to  our  homes." 
He  said  that  the  rural  districts,  the  backbone  of 
sound  government,  were  always  the  last  to  be  heard 
from,  and  the  morning  would  show  the  complete 
triumph  of  Perkins  and  Prosperity.  He  proposed 
three  rousing  cheers  for  the  entire  ticket,  national, 
State,  and  county.  When  they  got  outside,  Ranny 
was  grieved  to  find  that  the  court-house  clock  showed 
only  half  past  ten. 

As  they  passed  the  office  of  the  ridiculous  News 
uncouth  noises  poured  forth  from  the  lighted  rooms 
of  the  Chandler  club  up-stairs. 

"What  're  they  a-hollerin'  for?"  Ranny  asked 
Father,  who  seemed  to  have  grown  strangely  silent 
in  the  last  hour.  "Mebbe  they  think  they  won." 

For  some  time  Ranny  was  to  remember  how 
happy  he  was  when  he  made  that  ignorant  speech. 
With  it  the  heyday  of  youth  was  closed — at  least 
for  repairs. 

"They  did,  son."  Father  seemed  to  part  with 
these  words  with  deep  regret.  ' '  Chandler  is  elected. ' ' 

"But  the  m-man  said — 

"I  know.     Bacon  won't  admit  it  for  three  weeks." 

"Mebbe  in  the  morning  it  will  be  all  differ 'nt." 

83 


RANNY 

"No,  Ranny.  Things  always  get  more-so  over 
night." 

The  last  defense  was  gone.  So  with  aching  throat 
and  holding  tight  to  a  warm  and  comforting  hand, 
Ranny  plodded  homeward  through  a  cheerless 
Chandlery  world. 

"What  're  we  goin'  to  do?"  he  found  voice  at  last 
to  inquire.  He  had  a  vague  idea  that  they  might 
move  to  some  civilized  country  like  Mexico  or 
Beluchistan,  but  Father  seemed  to  think  his  son 
was  proposing  armed  resistance. 

"The  election  is  over  and  we  are  all  good  Americans 
now.  We'll  take  our  licking  and  stand  by  the 
President.  Four  years  from  now,"  he  added,  per 
haps  a  little  inconsistently,  "the  people  will  be  good 
and  sick  of  him." 

"Is  Chan'ler  people  good  Americans,  too?" 

"Yes,  in  their  way.  The  best  American  I  know  is 
for  Chandler — though  she  doesn't  talk  about  it 
much." 

The  political  structure  which  Ranny  had  built 
upon  reading,  yelling,  and  hoop-rolling  came  tum 
bling  about  his  ears.  By  the  time  he  reached  home 
his  universe  had  reverted  to  chaos. 

At  school  next  day  Tom  Rucker's  face  wore  a  grin 
that  threatened  to  become  chronic.  He  wriggled 
his  ears  without  stint,  made  a  free  earthquake  for 
people  of  all  parties  by  wedging  his  knees  under  his 

84 


PARTY    LINES 


desk  and  vibrating,  and  finally  he  received  dishon 
orable  mention  for  drawing  a  caricature  of  Perkins 
(so  labeled)  recumbent,  with  toes  pointing  toward 
the  sky.  His  conduct  did  not  make  things  easy, 
but  Ranny  was  tired  of  being  separated  from  people 
by  party  lines.  So  at  recess  he  isolated  Tom  and 
took  the  conversation  by  the  forelock  thus : 

"Well,  I'm  glad  we  won." 

Tom  was  so  astonished  that  he  lost  the  power  of 
speech  and  uttered  only  weird  sounds. 

"What's  the  matter  with  ya?"  he  presently  suc 
ceeded  in  saying.  "Are  ya  crazy  or  what  ?  Perkins 
got  licked  awful." 

"How  do  you  know  I'm  f'r  Perkins?  Mebbe  I'm 
f'r" — the  word  did  not  come  easy — "Ch-Chan'ler." 

Tom  made  gestures  of  deep  despair. 

"How  could  ya  be  f'r  Chan'ler?  A  person  has  to 
be  what  their  father  is." 

Randolph  Harrington  Dukes  offered  the  following 
amendment : 

"A  person  has  to  be  what  their  father  is,  or  their 
mother.''1 


V 

BOY     FINANCE 

WHILE  the  nation  hung  hesitant  between 
Ranny's  paternal  and  maternal  candidates 
for  President  the  ordinary  processes  of  nature  were 
by  no  means  suspended.  The  summer  gave  way  to 
autumn  in  the  old  familiar  fashion ;  days  shortened, 
nights  became  frosty,  walnuts  ripened.  It  was  at 
this  season — early  walnut-time,  to  be  exact — that 
Ranny  and  his  contemporaries,  pushed  by  Tug 
Wiltshire,  took  their  first  plunge  into  high  finance. 
Tug  Wiltshire,  east- warder  and  bookworm,  was 
forever  reading  things  in  papers  and  magazines  and 
introducing  disturbing  ideas  into  real  life.  The 
custom  was  to  ridicule  these  notions  first  and  adopt 
them  afterward.  It  was  Tug  who  organized  a  polar 
expedition,  which  might  have  deprived  society  of 
one  of  its  chief  ornaments  but  for  the  fact  that 
the  water  was  only  two  feet  deep  at  the  point 
where  "Fatty"  Hartman  fell  through  the  ice.  Tug 
could  be  expected  to  break  out  at  any  time  without 
warning.  Therefore  the  select  group  of  volunteer 

86 


BOY    FINANCE 


walnut-hullers  in  Ranny's  back  yard  were  not 
greatly  surprised  when  Tug  fell  over  the  fence  into 
their  midst  and  introduced  philately. 

"Lookee  here  what  I  got,"  said  Tug,  absently 
brushing  the  dirt  from  his  knee.  He  displayed  a 
sheet  of  paper  upon  which  were  loosely  fastened  a 
number  of  ridiculous  alien  postage-stamps. 

"Fatty"  Hartman,  who  yielded  to  none  in  the 
speed  with  which  he  abandoned  anything  resembling 
work,  took  the  absurdity  in  his  hand  and  left  a 
thumb-print  in  walnut  stain. 

"What  is  it,  anyway?"  he  asked. 

"It's  called  a  'proval  sheet,"  replied  Tug.  "You 
see  them  there?  Them's  postage-stamps  of  all 
nations." 

"What  're  they  good  f'r?" 

Tug  tried  to  put  the  thing  in  such  a  way  as  to 
appeal  to  "Fatty's"  practical  nature. 

"S'posen  you  wanta  write  a  letter  to  somebody 
in  them  countries." 

"Fatty"  gave  the  paper  another  examination. 

"I  don't  know  anybody  in  Hellygoland,"  he  said. 

In  a  short  time  all  the  fickle  walnut-hullers  had 
grabbed  the  "approval  sheet"  from  one  another  and 
looked  it  over.  If  Tug  Wiltshire  had  been  done  away 
with  in  Ranny's  back  yard  that  October  Saturday 
morning  a  finger-print  expert  would  easily  have 
identified  as  those  present  "Fatty"  Hartman,  Bud 

7  87 


RANNY 

Hicks,  and  Tom  Rucker — besides  Ranny  himself. 
As  far  as  these  characters  were  concerned  the  ap 
proval  sheet  was  badly  named ;  they  all  agreed  that 
they  had  never  seen  anything  less  important  or 
desirable. 

"I  answered  a  ad.  in  a  boys'  magazine,"  the  owner 
thus  explained  his  misfortune.  ' '  I  only  had  to  send 
ten  cents." 

Tom  Rucker 's  most  sacred  feelings  were  outraged 
by  this  admission. 

"Ya  paid  ten  cents  for  them  things?"  he  asked. 
"Are  ya  crazy  or  what?  What  're  ya  goin'  to  do 
with  them?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  sell  'em  and  make  money,  like  it 
said  in  the  paper.  Don't  you  s'pose  I  can  read?" 

"Who  ya  goin'  to  sell  'em  to?"  asked  Ranny. 

Although  devoted  to  literature,  Tug  was  not  with 
out  knowledge  of  practical  affairs.  It  was  no  secret 
in  Lakeville  that  Ranny  was  always  more  or  less 
capitalistic  on  Saturday  forenoon — more  in  the 
morning  and  less  as  the  day  wore  on.  The  weekly 
dime  which  Ranny  extorted  from  his  mother  for 
alleged  work,  labor,  and  services  was  as  much  an 
established  institution  as  the  thirty  cents  which 
Arthur  Wilson  got  every  week  for  sweeping  out  the 
First  National  Bank — and  was  more  accessible  to 
the  masses.  It  was  not  ignorance,  then,  but  low 
cunning  which  prompted  Tug's  reply : 


BOY    FINANCE 


"Well,  I  knew  they  wasn't  nobody  here  had  any 
money." 

Not  only  the  "remittance  man,"  but  his  penniless 
friends  as  well,  were  angry  at  this  slander.  In  defense 
of  his  reputation  for  solvency  Ranny  parted  with  his 
entire  six  cents  for  three  canceled  stamps  of  nations 
for  which  he  had  only  distaste  because  they  occurred 
in  geography. 

"I'll  learn  him  if  I  ain't  got  any  money — the  ol' 
east-warder!"  said  Ranny,  after  Tug  had  departed 
with  his  humiliation  and  profits. 

"I  betcha,"  said  Bud  Hicks,  "I  can  get  more 
stamps  than  Tug — er  anybody." 

"I  know  a  person  that's  got  some  crazy  stamps," 
put  in  Tom  Rucker. 

"Who?"  came  a  chorus  of  young  voices. 

"It's  all  right  who.  Mebbe  I  want  'em  my  own 
self." 

"Does  America  stamps  count?"  asked  "Fatty," 
who  had  neither  money  nor  friends  at  foreign  courts. 

Ranny  had  some  American  stamps  that  had  come 
upon  the  summer's  letters  from  the  teacher,  so  he 
ruled  that  they  did  count;  and  as  nobody  had  in 
formation  to  the  contrary,  it  was  so  ordered. 

Before  three  days  had  passed  the  infant  industry, 
which  had  been  started  for  the  purpose  of  putting 
Tug  Wiltshire  into  his  proper  place,  was  able  to 
toddle  about  on  its  own  feet.  Tug,  having  made  a 


RANNY 

quick  "turnover,"  put  his  profits  back  into  the 
business  and  sent  to  the  nearest  metropolis  for  more 
outlandish  stamps.  Others  dug  up  odds  and  ends 
of  postage  from  amateur  sources.  Tom  Rucker's 
sub  rosa  acquaintance  proved  to  be  Mrs.  Thompson, 
whose  New  York  son  had  once  been  to  Europe  and 
had  written  home  descriptions  of  the  same  at  the 
cost  of  various  pence,  centimes,  and  pfennigs.  Mrs. 
Thompson,  torn  between  love  of  Tom  and  duty 
toward  her  son's  historic  trip,  compromised  by  giving 
away  one  stamp  of  each  variety.  Tom  brought  back 
to  general  society  the  idea  that  one  must  get  as  many 
different  kinds  as  possible  and  that  extras  didn't 
count.  This  principle,  promptly  accepted,  led  to 
violent  trading.  Miss  Mills,  who  had  sometimes 
despaired  of  getting  the  young  idea  to  shoot  at  geog 
raphy,  might  have  been  cheered  had  she  seen  Bud 
Hicks  trying  to  trade  a  "twenty-cent  Dutchland"  to 
Ted  Blake  for  a  "ten-cent  Sweden."  The  short 
sighted  foreign  policy  of  marking  stamps  with  "d" 
and  "pf"  and  "ore"  had  caused  such  difficulties 
that  the  boys  had  swept  away  these  provincial  dis 
tinctions  and  made  the  honest  "cent"  international. 
Although  Mrs.  Thompson  and  other  owners  of 
attics  and  waste-paper  baskets  had  to  endure  some 
noisy  popularity  in  the  days  that  followed,  their  lot 
was  happy  compared  with  that  of  the  hyphenated 
citizens.  Jacob  Huffman,  junk-dealer  and  business 

90 


BOY    FINANCE 


associate  of  the  young,  who  was  vaguely  understood 
to  have  hailed  from  "Europe  or  somewhere,"  was 
much  sought  after,  and  choice  rags  and  bones  were 
dangled  before  him.  But  Jacob's  friends  in  Europe 
or  somewhere  must  have  been  illiterate,  for  he  could 
produce  nothing  in  the  way  of  postage-stamps. 
Mr.  Engle,  who  ministered  to  the  inner  public  with 
"Delicatessen  and  Lunch,"  parted  first  with  all  his 
"twenty-cent  Dutchlands"  and  later  with  his  ha 
bitual  good  nature.  Toward  the  end  of  the  week  a 
boy  entering  the  delicatessen-shop  even  upon  a  com 
mercial  errand  did  so  at  his  own  risk. 

Ranny,  who  had  begun  to  fall  behind  in  the  race 
for  philatelic  prestige,  decided  that  he  might  recoup 
his  fortunes  by  a  stroke  of  diplomacy.  His  plan  was 
based  upon  the  radical  theory  that  Wung  Lee  would 
not  cut  off  the  ears  of  any  boy  bearing  business,  and 
he  got  permission  at  home  to  do  his  will  with  Father's 
collars,  which  ordinarily  went  to  the  patriotic  laun 
dry  west  of  the  livery-stable.  The  Chinaman  ac 
cepted  his  patronage  without  offering  physical 
violence  and  Ranny  was  encouraged  to  ask: 

"Mr.  Lee — h-have  you — could  you  give  me  any 
China  stamps — you  know, like  they  come  on  letters?" 
His  gesture  was  meant  to  illustrate  stamps  coming  on 
letters. 

The  Oriental  made  some  remark,  which  Ranny  did 
not  catch,  and  disappeared  into  the  back  room,  which 

91 


RANNY 

was  known  to  hold  some  pretty  dark  secrets,  as  well 
as  a  trunkful  of  elegant  brass  money.  Not  knowing 
whether  the  laundryman  had  gone  after  stamps  or 
some  Oriental  instrument  of  torture,  Ranny  re 
treated  half-way  to  the  door  so  as  to  be  prepared  in 
either  case.  The  story,  however,  proved  to  have  a 
happy  ending.  The  Chinaman  gave  him  five  utterly 
unreasonable  stamps.  They  were  alike,  but  the 
duplicates  would  have  high  trading  value  because 
they  came  from  a  country  which,  gossip  said,  was 
directly  underneath  Lakeville  and  upside  down. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  week  somebody  discovered 
that  it  was  not  necessary  to  pay  Tug  Wiltshire's 
excessive  prices,  as  any  person  who  was  in  funds 
could  send  ten  cents  to  a  stamp  company  and  get 
an  approval  sheet  of  his  own.  But  boy  finance  was 
built  upon  a  copper  standard  and  dimes  were  scarce. 
It  was  Arthur  Wilson,  financial  expert,  who  sug 
gested  a  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  Arthur  had  al 
ready  used  his  bank  connection  to  get  permission  to 
examine  the  old  letters  in  the  cellar.  These  had 
yielded  chiefly  three-cent  stamps  of  an  ancient  vint 
age.  Arthur  had  made  the  mistake  of  flooding  the 
market  with  these  and  presently  they  were  so  com 
mon  that  it  was  almost  a  disgrace  to  own  one. 

Though  Arthur  held  a  thirty-cent  position  at  a 
tender  age,  he  was  not  a  self-made  boy.  He  had  got 
his  job  because  his  uncle  was  bookkeeper  in  the  bank 

92 


BOY    FINANCE 


— a  case  of  nepotism,  rather  than  solid  merit.  Yet  a 
•  person  who  daily  sprinkled  and  swept  near  so  much 
money  and  who  had  once  been  allowed  to  lift  ten 
thousand  dollars  could  not  be  disregarded  when  he 
said,  "I  tell  you  what  le's  do — le's  organize  a 
company." 

This  was  on  Friday  after  school,  as  some  prominent 
collectors  and  connoisseurs  were  advancing  toward 
Arthur's  place  of  wage-slavery.  Unfamiliar  words 
always  appealed  to  "Fatty"  Hartman's  comic  spirit. 

"Organize,  organize,"  he  said;  "that's  a  fancy 
word."  For  a  while  no  serious  thought  was  possible 
because  "Fatty"  was  offering  to  "organize"  every 
body — with  pain. 

"Every  fellow  puts  in  some  money,"  Arthur  ex 
plained.  "Whatever  they  have.  An'  then  we'll 
send  off  and  get  a  lot  of  fine  stamps  and  sell  'em  and 
make  money  and  buy  some  more  and — 

"Yeah,  where'd  we  git  anything  to  put  in?"  This 
cold  water  was  supplied  by  Tom  Rucker. 

But  Tom's  pessimism,  "Fatty's"  jocularity,  and 
Ranny's  hazy  suspicion  of  stock  companies  all  fell  in 
turn  before  dreams  of  riches.  They  deposited  Arthur 
at  his  bank  with  the  understanding  that  the  organiza 
tion  would  take  place  the  next  morning  in  the 
furnace-heated,  brick-floored  cellar  of  the  Wilson 
home  and  that  nobody  was  to  make  too  much  noise. 
All  must  shake  savings-banks  or  pester  parents,  for 

93 


RANNY 

any  person  without  money  would  be  put  out  of  the 
cellar.  Meanwhile  Arthur  would  ask  his  uncle  how 
companies  were  organized.  The  only  thing  he  was 
quite  clear  about  was  that  the  one  who  "thought  it 
up"  must  be  president. 

Thus  by  one  means  or  another  funds  were  raised 
and  there  was  an  impressive  gathering  of  the  opulent 
at  Wilson's  outside  cellar  door  Saturday  forenoon. 
Ranny  had  his  week's  wages  and  two  cents  in  petty 
cash.  Arthur  Wilson  showed  his  faith  in  the  future 
by  displaying  a  quarter.  Two  and  three  cents  per 
capita  were  normal  and  there  was  a  light  sprinkling 
of  nickels.  "Fatty"  Hartman,  who,  because  of  his 
appetite  for  sweets,  was  always  in  financial  distress, 
tried  to  make  a  winning  personality  serve  as  an 
entrance  fee,  but  business  was  business  and  he  was 
refused  admittance. 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Ranny,  "I'll  lend  'im  two  cents. 
Is  that  all  right?" 

Arthur's  uncle  had  not  said  anything  to  prevent 
Ranny 's  lending  petty  cash  to  "Fatty"  Hartman, 
so  it  was  permitted. 

"You  gotta  pay  it  back,"  was  Ranny's  hard  con 
dition,  "an'  you  gotta  be  on  my  side — an'  ever'- 
thing." 

"Fatty"  cheerfully  mortgaged  his  personal  liberty 
and  became  a  stockholder.  What,  by  his  entrance, 
the  meeting  gained  in  bulk  it  lost  in  decorum. 

94 


BOY    FINANCE 


The  Wilson  basement  was  splendidly  equipped 
with  boxes  and  boards  with  which  to  construct 
resting-places  for  tired  business  men.  Also  there 
was  a  table  which  came  within  one  leg  of  being 
perfect.  A  little  carpentry  made  this  strong 
enough  to  bear  pounding,  and  Arthur  elected 
himself  president  by  keeping  possession  of  the 
hammer.  He  advanced  the  opinion  that  he  should 
also  be  "treasury." 

"I  oughta  be  treasury,"  shouted  Ranny.  "I  got 
ten  cents."  He  repeated  this  in  even  louder  tones 
so  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  his  bondman,  who 
was  combining  pleasure  with  business  by  pinching 
Tom  Rucker's  knee.  "Fatty"  arose  en  masse  and 
made  a  demonstration  that  threatened  to  wreck  the 
seating  arrangements — he  was  always  something  of  a 
problem  in  a  room  containing  furniture. 

"If  ya  don't  make  Ranny  treasury,"  he  shouted, 
"I'll — I'll  organize  the  whole  shebang!" 

Ted  Blake  put  no  faith  in  this  promise.  "  I  like  to 
see  you  try,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  delightful  uproar  and  Ted,  aided  by 
many  willing  hands,  was  about  to  throw  "Fatty" 
out  of  the  stockholders'  meeting  when  suddenly 
there  was  an  ominous  thumping  upon  the  floor  over 
head,  indicating  wrath  on  the  part  of  the  Wilson 
family,  which  was  still  trying  to  live  there. 

"Hey!  sit  down  everybody  and  keep  still!"  said 

95 


RANNY 

the  worried  chairman.     "It's  all  right;   Ranny  can 
be  treasury.     I  don't  care." 

Feeling  that  he  had  given  a  generous  two  cents' 
worth  of  loyalty,  "Fatty"  now  subsided,  and  Ranny 
relieved  everybody  of  his  small  change.  Tug  Wilt 
shire  was  elected  secretary  because  of  his  knowledge 
of  the  trade,  and  at  Ranny 's  demand  "Fatty"  was 
chosen  doorkeeper  and  custodian  of  the  peace. 
Putting  the  peace  in  "Fatty's"  care  proved  to  be 
equivalent  to  a  motion  to  adjourn.  In  a  sort  of  in 
formal  inaugural  address  he  declared  that  if  Ted 
Blake,  or  anybody  like  that,  made  any  noise  he 
would  be  thrown  out.  In  the  eruption  that  followed 
Mrs.  Wilson  came  down  the  inside  cellar  steps  and 
dissolved  the  meeting  sine  die. 

"Nex'  Satu'day,"  Ranny  announced,  "we  can 
meet  in  our  woodshed  an'  make  a  store  for  our 
stamps.  We  can  holler  there  an'  ever'thing." 

To  "The  Lakeville  Stamp  Company"-— the  name 
sprouted  in  Tug  Wiltshire's  fertile  brain — "holler 
ing"  rights  were  extremely  precious,  so  it  was  agreed 
that  the  next  meeting  would  be  held  at  the  home  of 
the  treasury.  Presently  the  officers  met  and  invested 
the  capital ;  this  was  arranged  amicably  and  without 
any  quarrels  whatever,  except  two. 

Early  in  the  following  week  Ranny  was  approached 
by  Clarence  Raleigh,  who  had  thus  far  taken  no 
part  in  the  stamp  industry. 

96 


BOY    FINANCE 


"Let  me  be  in  your  company,"  said  this  gilded 
youth.  "I  can  get  lots  of  money.  My  father — " 

"I  tell  you  what,"  Ranny  interrupted  so  as  to  be 
spared  the  painful  details.  Nobody  would  thank 
him  for  taking  Clarence  into  the  company,  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  Raleigh  money  was  undoubtedly 
genuine.  "You  come  'round  to  my  house  nex' 
Satu'day  mornin'  an'  bring  a  lot  of  money.  We're 
goin'  to  have  some  fine  stamps  to  sell." 

"Well,  maybe,"  said  Clarence,  doubtfully. 

"Don't  tell  anybody  I  told  you.  It's  a  kind  of  a 
secrut  we  got — me  an'  you." 

"Well,  all  right,"  Clarence  replied,  obviously 
pleased  by  this  token  of  intimacy. 

Although  excessively  popular  with  his  mother  and 
father,  Clarence  had  never  made  headway  with  the 
younger  and  rougher  set.  Ranny's  was  a  reflex, 
defensive  action  based  upon  a  desire  not  to  be  as 
sociated  with  this  overdressed  youth  in  the  public 
mind.  Its  only  penalty  was  that  throughout  a 
week  of  broad  commercial  affairs,  with  incidental 
school  work,  he  had  to  exchange  winks  of  guilty 
knowledge  with  Clarence  Raleigh. 

The  days  were  crowded  with  details — visiting  the 
post-office  with  Tug  until  the  parcel  of  stamps 
finally  arrived,  turning  them  over,  with  protests, 
to  the  president,  and  discussing  what  each  share 
holder  would  do  with  his  profits.  Ranny  had  men- 

97 


RANNY 

tally  spent  his  dividends  over  and  over  for  various 
goods,  but  toward  the  end  of  the  week  he  settled 
down  to  spending  them  for  a  sled.  His  former  sled 
had  collapsed  beyond  repair;  cold  weather  was 
coming  on  and  the  first  snowstorm  would  find 
him  utterly  unprepared.  On  Saturday  morning 
Ranny's  modest  hope  was  that  he  could  realize 
one  dollar  and  thirty-seven  cents  before  the  day 
was  over;  a  small  but  yellow  sled  was  held  at 
that  price  in  the  basement  of  the  Star  Department 
Store. 

At  the  meeting,  which  opened  shortly  after  break 
fast,  Ranny's  invitation  to  "holler  an'  ever'thing" 
was  accepted  almost  too  literally.  For  its  size  it  was 
probably  the  loudest  stockholders'  meeting  ever  held 
in  Lakeville.  The  only  business  was  to  set  out  the 
stock  in  a  way  supposed  to  be  tempting  to  people  of 
means.  This  had  to  be  done  without  the  authorita 
tive  hand  of  Tug  Wiltshire,  who,  for  some  reason, 
was  not  present  at  the  meeting. 

The  display  was  made  upon  the  counter  which 
Ranny  had  hitherto  devoted  to  the  sale  of  medicine. 
With  stamps  upon  the  counter,  lithographic  art  upon 
the  walls,  the  rattly  bones  of  the  old  sled  hanging 
upon  a  nail,  and,  further  to  delight  the  eye,  a  pile 
of  stove  wood,  a  bag  of  walnuts,  a  hoop,  a  dismantled 
clock,  one  stilt,  and  a  cage  of  guinea-pigs,  Ranny's 
shop  seemed  to  illustrate  the  modern  tendency  of 

98 


BOY    FINANCE 


drug-stores  to  sell  everything  with  the  possible  ex 
ception  of  drugs. 

For  a  while  philately  absorbed  what  little  attention 
there  was;  it  was  clearly  the  finest  aggregation  of 
second-hand  stamps  ever  collected  under  one  roof. 
True,  there  was  a  rather  too  generous  supply  of  such 
old  friends  as  "twenty-cent  Dutchlands"  and  "ten- 
cent  Nederlands,"  but  there  were  also  rarer  birds. 
Borneo  was  represented,  and  a  country  called  Norge, 
also  several  South  American  republics  with  stamps 
of  immense  denominations.  The  Straits  Settle 
ments  rubbed  elbows  with  Helgoland — where  "Fat 
ty"  Hartman  had  no  friends.  Here  were  arrayed 
the  solemn  visages  of  half  the  world's  potentates, 
pleasantly  relieved  by  kangaroos  and  dragons  and 
Egyptian  pyramids.  The  exhibition  would  have 
coaxed  money  out  of  any  pocket  which  contained  any. 

There,  alas,  lay  the  difficulty.  The  stockholders 
had  already  strained  their  resources ;  they  were  here, 
not  to  buy,  but  to  "holler"  and  collect  dividends. 
"The  Lakeville  Stamp  Company"  had  no  intention 
of  prospering  by  selling  things  to  itself;  it  counted 
upon  a  trusting,  solvent  public.  Therefore  the 
corporate  name  was  chalked  upon  the  fence  where 
the  alley  joined  the  street  and  an  arrow  pointed  the 
way  to  the  open  back-yard  gate.  Once  arrived 
at  the  woodshed,  the  customer  had  only  to  overpower 
Doorkeeper  Hartman  and  wade  through  cheering 

99 


RANNY 

stockholders  to  his  heart's  desire.  But  though  an 
hour  had  passed  since  business  opened,  the  only  per 
son  who  had  come  near  was  a  penniless  "Frogtown" 
youth  who  had  inserted  his  moon-shaped  face  into 
the  alley  window  and  inquired,  "What's  ever'body 
a-hollerin'  f'r?"  The  pocket  of  Randolph  Harring 
ton  Dukes  was  still  innocent  of  all  treasure  except  his 
own  Saturday-morning  dime. 

Ted  Blake  was  the  first  to  lose  faith  in  the  enter 
prise.  "This  ain't  no  good,"  he  said.  "Gimme 
back  my  two  cents.  I  don't  wanta  belong  to  this 
here  company  any  more." 

"You  gotta  belong,"  Ranny  replied.  "The  treas 
ury's  got  no  regalar  money — only  stamps." 

Simultaneously  patience  ceased  to  be  a  virtue  with 
three  other  stockholders,  besides  "Fatty,  "who,  being 
a  pauper,  had  no  standing  in  the  courts.  The  defec 
tion  was  rapidly  approaching  financial  panic.  Ran 
ny,  in  desperation,  was  about  to  risk  ridicule  and 
disclose  his  secret  information  about  possible  orders 
when  he  was  struck  with  a  finer  and  nobler  idea.  It 
had  an  element  of  speculation  because  Clarence 
Raleigh,  owing  to  his  mother's  veto  power,  was 
undependable  in  his  engagements,  but  it  held  glit 
tering  possibilities,  including  a  yellow  sled. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "le's  don't  organize  a  com 
pany  any  more.  I'll  take  all  the  stamps  for  my  store. ' ' 

Through  the  cries  of  rage  the  idea  finally  per- 

joo 


BOY    FINANCE 


colated  that  Ranny  was  proposing  to  buy,  not  to 
steal,  the  company's  assets.  He  escaped  to  the 
house  and  by  patient  probing  withdrew  from  his  iron 
savings-bank  its  entire  seven  cents.  Furthermore, 
he  suggested  to  Mother  that  she  pay  him  his  next 
week's  wages  in  advance. 

"My  goodness!  what  a  racket  they're  making!" 
was  Mother's  irrelevant  comment. 

"If  I  had  another  ten  cents,"  Ranny  replied, 
"mebbe  I  could  make  'em  go  'way." 

Perhaps  this  possibility  struck  Mother  as  a  good 
bargain;  at  any  rate,  Ranny  soon  rejoined  his  busi 
ness  associates  jingling  with  copper. 

"They  ain't  enough  money  to  pay  ever'body 
back,"  said  Ranny.  This  announcement  had  a 
further  depressing  effect  upon  the  market,  and  in  the 
slump  Ranny  began  to  buy. 

Ted  Blake  relinquished  his  claim  for  one  cent  in 
cash  and  a  handful  of  walnuts;  Tom  Rucker  sold 
his  birthright  for  a  slightly  bent  jews'-harp  and 
promptly  began  to  render  selections.  Cash,  stamps, 
and  walnuts  in  various  combinations  secured  the 
release  of  all  the  minor  claims  against  the  company. 
Books  had  been  kept  in  the  heads  of  the  stock 
holders,  and  adjustments  were  made  by  disputation 
and  personal  abuse.  In  the  half -hour  while  the  com 
pany  was  being  unorganized  Ranny 's  mother  did 
not  get  even  three  cents'  worth  of  silence. 

101 


RANNY 

Arthur  Wilson,  who  was  sunk  in  "Lakeville 
Stamp"  to  the  depth  of  a  quarter,  proved  hard  to 
buy  off.  Ranny  offered  him  stamps,  also  a  guinea- 
pig  ;  but  it  seemed  that  the  only  thing  the  outgoing 
president  desired  less  than  stamps  was  live  stock. 
Ranny  called  attention  to  the  sled  and  the  clock, 
but  Arthur  had  no  taste  for  antiques.  The  final 
settlement  involved  a  small  and  reluctant  guinea- 
pig,  four  cents  in  cash  (all  that  remained  in  the 
treasury),  and  a  ruinous  helping  of  walnuts.  In  re 
turn  Arthur  gave  up  his  official  title,  also  a  special 
revenue  stamp  which  he  had  found  in  the  bank 
cellar  and  which  thus  far  had  proved  unique. 

"Fatty"  Hartman  now  came  forward  demanding 
to  be  liquidated. 

"I  lent  you  the  money,"  said  Ranny,  earnestly. 
"I  don't  owe  you  nothing  an'  you  don't  owe  me 
nothing.  Ever'thing's  all  right." 

But  everything,  it  appeared,  was  not  all  right. 
Walnuts  were  being  cracked  all  over  the  floor  of  the 
stamp  exchange  and  nobody  gave  "Fatty"  any 
walnuts.  He  threatened  Ranny  with  dire  organiza 
tion  if  something  was  not  done  for  his  sad  case. 

Tom  Rucker  interrupted  a  rendition  of  "In  the 
Sweet  By  and  By"  to  emit  humor. 

"You're  the  doorkeeper,"  he  said.  "Put  yourself 
out." 

"Fatty"  caught  the  subtle  spirit  of  the  whimsy 

102 


BOY    FINANCE 


and  grabbed  himself  by  the  collar.  Before  an  ap 
preciative  audience  he  staged  a  contest  between  the 
official  and  private  sides  of  his  nature. 

Into  this  orgy  of  feasting,  music,  and  high  carnival 
there  now  entered  the  most  innocent  of  all  possible 
investors.  Though  the  weather  was  mild,  Clarence's 
form  was  draped  in  a  gray  overcoat  of  distinctive 
pattern.  His  felt  hat  was  encircled  by  a  daring 
ribbon  of  robin's-egg  blue.  Yet — so  great  is  the 
power  of  the  dollar — Ranny  was  actually  glad  to 
see  him. 

"Fatty"  gave  up  the  struggle  with  his  lawless 
private  self  and  started  to  put  Clarence  out,  as 
against  public  policy. 

"Leave  'im  alone!"  shouted  Ranny.  "Mebbe 
he's  a  cus-customer."  He  spread  out  his  hands  on 
the  counter  as  one  who  strives  to  please.  "What  '11 
it  be  to-day?"  he  asked. 

"Look  what  I  got  this  morning,"  Clarence  replied. 
He  drew  from  under  his  coat  a  book  of  about  the 
size  of  an  advanced  geography. 

"The  Young  Philadelphia,"  read  out  "Fatty," 
ignorantly.  "Wha's  that  f'r?" 

"That  word  is  philatelist,"  said  Clarence.  "It's  a 
stamp  album.  My  father  got  it  in  Chicago.  It  cost 
more  than  two  dollars  and  a  half." 

"Well,"  said  Ranny,  gleefully,  "I  s'pose  you  wanta 
buy  some  stamps  to  put  in  it." 
8  103 


Clarence  opened  The  Young  Philatelist  with  a 
gloved  hand.  "Yes,"  he  said,  sneeringly,  "I  want 
to  buy  some  stamps  like  fun!"  He  dramatically 
turned  over  several  pages.  "It's  got  them  all  in 
already — every  stamp  in  the  world!" 

Ranny  saw  with  dismay  that  the  pages  were  filled 
with  stamps.  Mr.  Raleigh,  with  characteristic 
thoughtfulness,  had  bought  a  ready-made  collection 
so  as  to  save  his  son  from  mental  wear  and  tear. 
Ranny  was  angry  at  the  way  he  had  been  duped. 

"You  hav'n't,  either,  got  all  the  stamps  in  the 
world.  I  betcha  you  hav'n't  even  got  that  one." 
He  picked  up  the  portrait  of  a  handsome  pink 
kangaroo. 

"What  country?"  asked  the  young  philatelist. 

"Austria." 

"Australia,"  corrected  Arthur  Wilson. 

"Well,  Australia,  then,"  said  Ranny.  "Same 
thing." 

Clarence  found  the  place  and  not  only  duplicated 
the  pink  kangaroo,  but  showed  other  kangaroos  in 
assorted  colors.  A  similar  fate  befell  the  pyramid. 
Even  Ranny 's  personal  Chinese  dragon,  acquired 
at  the  risk  of  life  and  limb,  was  represented  in  this 
masterpiece  of  philately. 

"I  guess,"  said  the  desperate  storekeeper,  "your 
ol'  book  hasn't  got  this."  It  was  the  special  revenue 
stamp  which  he  had  acquired  in  trade. 

104 


BOY    FINANCE 


Clarence  did  not  have  such  a  stamp,  but  he  had 
something  just  as  good — a  perfect  defense. 

"That  isn't  a  regular  stamp,"  he  said.  "I 
wouldn't  have  a  stamp  like  that.  My  father  could 
buy  me — 

"Who  wants  your  of  stamps,  anyhow?"  said  Ted 
Blake.  "Stamps  ain't  no  good.  Le's  go  out  an' 
play  shinny." 

It  was  a  minute  before  Ranny  realized  the  extent 
of  his  misfortune.  The  bottom  had  dropped  out  of 
the  market;  it  was  Black  Saturday  on  the  stamp 
exchange.  Any  game  in  which  Clarence  Raleigh 
could  achieve  perfection  became  automatically  not 
worth  the  candle.  Several  former  stamp-collectors 
went  so  far  as  to  toss  insulting  Dutchlands  and 
Nederlands  upon  the  counter.  The  fickle  popula 
tion  laughed  at  Ranny 's  folly  and  trooped  out  in 
quest  of  shinny. 

Ranny  sat  alone  in  the  great  silence;  he  had 
no  heart  for  pounding  a  tin  can  with  a  stick.  He 
stayed  in  the  woodshed  because  he  could  pity 
himself  there  better  than  in  the  open  air.  His 
walnut-bag  was  depleted,  his  cash  reserves  gone, 
his  future  mortgaged  for  a  week — and  Tug  Wilt 
shire  still  held  an  eight  -  cent  claim  against  the 
company.  He  was  out  a  guinea-pig  and  a  jews'- 
harp  and  winter  was  coming  on.  All  he  had  was 
a  lot  of  stamps,  and  to  try  to  sell  a  stamp  in  the 

105 


RANNY 

present  state  of  the  public  mind  was  to  invite 
assault  and  battery. 

Presently,  as  if  his  troubles  were  not  already 
greater  than  he  could  bear,  his  door  was  darkened 
by  the  person  whom  he  least  desired  to  see,  that 
outstanding  creditor  and  secretary,  Tug  Wiltshire. 
Tug  would  be  wanting  cash  and  there  was  no  cash. 
But  since  it  is  better  to  accuse  than  to  be  accused, 
Ranny  demanded: 

"Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  meeting?  It's  all 
over.  Ever'body's  gone  away." 

' '  I  got  a  new  book, ' '  the  east-warder  explained.  I 
had  to  finish  it  first.  It's  all  about  a  boy  that  had  a 
aeroplane.  The  boy — " 

"Did  you  come  straight  here  after  you  got 
done?" 

"Yes.     The  boy  went—" 

"Did  you  see  any  of  the  kids?" 

"No." 

Ranny  began  to  feel  that  life  still  held  some  inter 
esting  possibilities. 

"I  bet  you  don't  know  what  happened — I  bought 
the  stamp  company."  He  explained  how  he  had 
satisfied  all  claims,  but  made  no  mention  of  the  de 
pressing  Clarence  Raleigh.  If  Tug  would  sit  in  the 
east  ward  and  read  books,  let  him  take  the  con 
sequences. 

"What  're  you  goin'  to  do  with  all  them  stamps?" 
106 


BOY    FINANCE 


Ranny  lovingly  fondled  a  few  of  his  brightest 
animals  and  kings. 

' 'I'm  goin'  to  sell  'em. "  Then,  as  if  stricken  with  a 
fresh  idea:  "What  '11  you  give  me  for  the  whole 
bunch?  My  own  stamps,  too.  An'  this  here — now 
— you  know — special  rev'nue." 

Tug  examined  the  special  revenue,  then,  constant 
reader  that  he  was,  peeped  into  a  paper-covered 
booklet  of  some  sort. 

"I  hav'n't  got  any  money,  hardly,"  he  said.  "I'll 
give  you — I  tell  you,  I'll  trade  you  that  there  book. 
The  boy  went  up — " 

"No,  I  don't  want  no  book."  Ranny  felt  that 
literature  was  poor  equipment  for  a  hard,  cold 
winter.  "Have  you  got  a  sled?" 

"Yes."  Tug  brightened  perceptibly.  "I'll  give 
you  my  sled.  It's  a  good  sled — not  all  busted  like 
that  one."  He  indicated  the  venerable  relic  upon 
the  wall. 

"Well,  all  right."  Ranny  tried  to  restrain  the 
feverish  joy  in  his  voice.  "Take  'em  an'  I'll  come 
an'  get  the  sled." 

As  he  helped  gather  up  the  stamps  he  conceived  a 
bold  plan  by  which  he  could  punish  Tug  for  starting 
this  ridiculous  stamp  business  and  at  the  same  time 
win  his  own  way  back  into  popular  esteem. 

"The  kids  are  play  in'  shinny,"  he  said.  "Why 
don't  you  go  an'  sell  'em  some  stamps?  They  all 

107 


RANNY      

got  money — 'cept  'Fatty,'  of  course."  He  pictured 
the  joyful  and  violent  scene  when  Tug  tried  to  sell 
stamps  to  those  hardened  shinny-players,  and  then 
and  there  resolved  to  be  present. 

"No,"  said  Tug.  "I  can't  now.  I  gotta  go  home 
an'  send  something  to  the  stamp  company.  That 
special  revenue  is  worth  a  dollar  an'  a  half." 


VI 

A    FUGITIVE    FROM    INJUSTICE 

WITH  one  possible  exception  a  boy's  best  friend 
is  his  cap.  Whereas  a  hat  is  a  mere  article 
of  clothing,  a  cloth  cap  ministers  to  the  higher  needs 
of  the  human  soul.  Applied  locally  it  covers  de 
ficiencies  in  hair-combing;  turned  inside  out  it  is  a 
disguise;  games  are  built  upon  it;  without  it  the 
great  outdoor  sport  of  standing  upon  the  head  would 
lose  its  subtle  charm.  In  response  to  the  various 
demands  of  a  complex  life  it  is  a  towel,  an  eraser,  a 
fruit-basket,  a  shoe-brush,  a  pen-wiper,  a  butterfly- 
net,  and  a  home  plate.  It  can  be  ridiculed,  pushed 
over  the  eyes,  or  pulled  over  the  ears.  Also,  as 
Randolph  Harrington  Dukes  discovered  on  the 
Tuesday  following  the  collapse  of  the  stamp  indus 
try,  it  can  be  snatched  off  and  thrown  over  a  circus 
billboard  into  a  difficult  back  yard. 

For  some  time  Ranny's  mother  had  been  declaring 
that  this  cap,  with  its  rich,  earthy  tones  and  its 
ragged  lining,  was  an  offense  to  the  eye.  It  is  pos 
sible  that  its  loss  would  have  been  hailed  at  home 

109 


RANNY 

as  a  sanitary  triumph.  But  Ranny,  who  did  not 
share  these  views,  found  himself  a  Richard  without 
a  horse,  a  Samson  shorn  of  his  locks. 

The  author  of  the  atrocity  was  Ted  Blake,  an  un 
tamed  spirit  who  fitted  poorly  into  modern  civili 
zation. 

"Hey!  wha's  the  matter  with  you?"  Ranny  de 
manded  of  the  culprit.  "Now  you  gotta  climb  over 
and  get  my  cap  back!" 

This  was  the  one  wrong  thing  to  say.  Ap 
proached  on  the  softer  side  of  his  nature  or  "ban'- 
ered"  or  bet  a  million  dollars,  Ted  would  have 
made  the  ascent  with  ease  instead  of  replying: 

"Well,  why  don't  ya  make  me?" 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  force  a  fellow-citizen 
to  climb  over  a  billboard  against  his  better  judgment. 
Bud  Hicks,  who  was  for  the  moment  on  hostile  terms 
with  Ted,  had  just  offered  to  boost  Ranny  when  sud 
denly  the  cap  came  sailing  back  over  the  fence  and 
fell  among  the  astonished  youth.  Ranny  picked  the 
thing  up  and  examined  the  blue  sky  for  clues. 

"Who  slung  that?"  he  cried  out. 

Ted,  who  could  not  have  been  forced  to  mount  the 
billboard,  took  a  running  leap,  grabbed  the  top  with 
his  hands,  and,  after  kicking  the  remnants  of  a 
lithographic  ringmaster  for  a  time,  succeeded  in 
drawing  himself  up  high  enough  to  be  struck  in  the 
ear  by  an  old  shoe.  Ted  spent  such  a  short  time 

no 


A   FUGITIVE    FROM   INJUSTICE 

up  there  that  his  observations  were  of  no  scientific 
value.  Tom  Rucker  got  himself  boosted  into  the 
line  of  fire  with  much  the  same  result.  Meanwhile 
"Fatty"  Hartmanhad  found  a  knot-hole  in  the  bill 
board  just  east  of  the  clown. 

"Oh,  lookee!"  he  said,  permitting  nobody  to  do  so. 
"Who's  that  kid  in  there?  I  never  seen  him  before. 
What's  he  doin'  in  this  town?" 

One  might  have  judged,  from  his  aggrieved  tone, 
that  all  strangers  were  compelled  by  law  to  register 
with  "Fatty"  and  state  their  intentions.  He  con 
tinued  giving  out  bulletins :  ' '  Looks  like  a  tough  kid. 
I  bet  he  come  from  Chicago." 

"Aw,  give  somebody  else  a  chanst,  can't  ya?" 
demanded  Ted,  pulling  "Fatty"  away  from  the 
hole. 

Ranny,  knowing  that  he  came  under  the  head 
of  somebody  else,  jumped  in  and  got  a  fine,  brief 
view  of  a  back  yard  and  dump-heap,  but  he  saw  no 
human  soul,  tough  or  otherwise.  Yet  the  very  next 
person  to  climb  the  fence  was  struck  in  the  old 
familiar  way.  It  was  clear  that  the  unknown  had 
some  sort  of  hiding-place  from  which  he  could  emerge 
to  throw  refuse  at  the  native  sons. 

Ranny,  who  was  himself  again  with  the  return  of 
the  cap,  proposed  strategy.  Those  present  were 
divided  into  climbers  and  boosters;  even  a  tough 
Chicagoan  cannot  hit  four  or  five  persons  at  once. 

in 


RANNY 

The  boosters  would  then  boost  each  other  until  the 
supply  was  exhausted. 

"How'll  I  git  in?"  asked  "Fatty,"  who  was 
marked  by  nature  to  be  a  booster  rather  than  a 
climber. 

"You  stay  here,"  replied  Ted,  "an'  ketch  'im  if  he 
climbs  over  an'  tries  to  git  away." 

' '  I  can't  hang  around  here  all  night,"  said  "Fatty," 
who  did  not  relish  a  single-handed  encounter  with  a 
product  of  the  slums.  "I  gotta  go  home  an'  fix  the 
hen-house." 

But  civilization  had  no  time  for  "Fatty's"  private 
griefs,  and  the  scaling  of  the  wall  began.  The  in 
vasion  was  successful  enough  from  a  military  point 
of  view,  but,  as  so  often  happens  in  history,  the 
conquerors  fell  victims  to  the  conquered.  Curiosity 
and  admiration  held  them  spellbound  in  a  wide, 
staring  circle.  This  youth  was  of  a  proper  and  in 
teresting  size;  he  was  dark  both  naturally  and  by 
accretion,  his  hair  was  longer  than  parents  usually 
permit,  and  his  clothes  showed  no  traces  of  a  mother's 
interfering  hand.  Most  wonderful  of  all,  the  boy 
lived  in  a  box,  there  in  the  back  yard  of  Jimmy 
Garvin's  flour-and-feed  store.  He  did  not  live  ex 
cessively,  perhaps,  but  he  had  a  mattress  of  sorts, 
and  something  in  the  way  of  covers. 

"I  bet  you  come  from  Chicago,"  said  Ted  Blake, 
not  unamiably. 

112 


A    FUGITIVE    FROM    INJUSTICE 

To  "Fatty"  a  this  private  knot-hole  this  must 
have  seemed  rank  plagiarism. 

"Well,  who  said  I  didn't?"  were  the  stranger's  first 
words  to  the  welcoming  committee. 

"What's  your  name?"  asked  Tom  Rucker. 

' ' Puddin'  Tame."  There  was  no  point  in  pursuing 
this  line  of  inquiry,  for  it  always  came  out  the  same 
way.  Presently  Jimmy  Garvin,  flour  and  feed,  came 
to  the  rear  doorway  and  called  out  in  his  funny, 
cracked  voice : 

"Run  along  now,  boys.  My  friend  don't  want  to 
be  bothered." 

"Goo'-by,  'Chicago,"  Ranny  said,  in  parting. 
"You  slung  back  my  cap." 

"Chicago"  cleared  himself  of  the  charge  of  soft 
politeness. 

"I  didn't  want  anybody  foolin'  around  here,"  he 
said,  sullenly. 

Conversation  ran  high  as  the  boys  pursued  their 
gradual  homeward  way.  "The  kid  is  awful  tough, " 
that  was  universally  admitted;  but  Ted  Blake, 
a  student  of  crime  and  owner  of  a  haymow  library, 
went  further.  It  was  Ted's  suspicion  that  "Chi 
cago"  was  "wanted"  by  the  police  of  practically  all 
the  large  cities  of  the  United  States  and  Canada. 

"An'  Mexico,"  said  Ranny,  helpfully. 

"An'  Manchester,"  added  Tom  Rucker,  to  whom 
no  subject  was  sacred. 

113 


RANNY 

"They  can  all  have  him,"  announced  "Fatty," 
who  had  thought  better  of  fixing  the  hen-house. 
"I  don't  want  him." 

Since  the  boy  was  a  fugitive  from  adult  justice,  it 
was  thought  only  right  that  his  presence  in  Lake- 
ville  should  be  kept  a  secret.  This  would  have  been 
easier  had  not  "Chicago"  appeared  next  day  upon 
the  street,  openly  driving  Jimmy  Garvin's  delivery 
horse.  The  vehicle  was  old  and  complaining,  its 
wheels  leaned  inward  or  outward  according  to  no 
settled  plan,  and  the  horse  was  no  credit  to  Jimmy 
Garvin's  wares.  A  criminal  could  not  have  eluded 
the  police  force  of  even  a  medium-sized  city  by 
the  aid  of  this  ambitionless  horse.  But  the  outfit 
was  adequate  to  Jimmy's  slight  needs.  Jimmy  was  a 
"character"  and  was  liked  as  such  in  the  business 
district,  but  most  people  bought  their  supplies  for 
man  and  beast  elsewhere.  In  fact,  the  news  that 
Jimmy  had  taken  an  assistant  produced  laughter 
wherever  two  or  three  were  gathered  together. 

Almost  overnight  the  flour-and-feed  store  became 
the  social  center  of  young  Lakeville.  From  the 
adjournment  of  school  in  the  afternoon  until  supper 
was  impending  the  shop  was  filled  with  a  lively  and 
unprofitable  crowd.  A  stranger  might  have  thought 
that  the  consumption  of  flour  and  feed  by  Lakeville 
boys  was  appalling.  Jimmy  Garvin  was  delighted 
with  the  success  of  his  salon.  He  was  about  ninety 

114 


A   FUGITIVE    FROM   INJUSTICE 

per  cent,  permanent  boy,  with  little  taste  for  busi 
ness;  dominoes  and  checkers  responded  to  a  vital 
need  of  his  nature. 

For  some  days  the  adult  world  was  but  dimly 
aware  of  the  new  social  force,  though  mothers 
wondered  at  the  gray  and  dusty  character  of 
their  sons'  clothing.  They  did  not  know  that 
the  younger  set  had  taken  to  burrowing  in  bins 
of  bran  and  burying  one  another  in  wheat  destined 
for  chicken-feed. 

Jimmy  Garvin,  checkers,  and  wheat-bins  were 
splendid  entertainments,  but  from  the  first  the  mag 
net  was  "Chicago" — he  never  admitted  the  posses 
sion  of  a  real  name.  He  was  a  fountainhead  of 
interest  and  wickedness,  his  conversation  was  replete 
with  "darns"  and  "doggones."  The  home  talent 
made  no  effort  to  conceal  their  faith  in  his  essential 
toughness.  When  the  first  natural  antagonism  be 
tween  outsider  and  old  settlers  had  broken  down, 
"Chicago"  seemed  anxious  to  please.  For  the  or 
dinary  uses  of  life  he  had  rather  a  charming  social 
manner,  including  a  talented  way  of  flapping  his 
hands  open  and  shut  when  he  played  the  harmonica. 
But  when  accused  of  toughness  he  clouded  up  and 
gave  the  public  what  it  wanted.  Asked  for  remi 
niscences  of  his  spicy  life  in  the  great  crime  centers, 
he  responded  in  a  vague  but  generous  way.  Ted 
Blake,  who  was  constantly  seeking  confirmation  of 

"5 


RANNY 

his  theories,  got  everything  he  wanted  except  mere 
information. 

"Listen  here,"  Ted  said  one  day,  as  all  the  best 
people  were  carving  their  initials  upon  the  kennel- 
like  home,  "if  you  walked  right  down  the  street  in 
Chicago  in  the  daytime — jus'  like  you  are — whaja 
s'pose  would  happen?" 

The  criminal  took  on  that  offensive  manner  that 
had  so  endeared  him  to  the  young. 

"Whadda  you  know  about  Chicago?"  he  de 
manded.  ' '  I  guess  you  don't  know  a  doggone  thing. 
I  wouldn't  git  three  doggone  blocks!" 

Ted  was  delighted.  "How  'bout  St.  Louis  and 
Oregon  and  all  them  places?" 

The  metropolitan  turned  from  this  ignorant  pro 
vincial  in  despair.  "The  kid  thinks  the  p'lice  don't 
know  nothin'.  What  am  I  foolin'  around  this  darn 
little  town  for?  Answer  me  that!" 

Nobody  answered  him  that,  because  to  repeated 
requests  for  enlightenment  as  to  how  and  why  he 
came  to  Lakeville  he  had  made  no  reply.  Jimmy 
Garvin  himself  claimed  not  to  know  anything  when 
interviewed  by  Jasper  Wakefield,  truant  officer. 

The  truant  officer  was  the  serpent  which  menaced 
this  flour-and-feed  paradise.  "Chicago"  was  ob 
viously  not  over  ten,  and  a  captious  person  might 
have  thought  that  his  education  was  incomplete. 
But  Wakefield  held  his  position  more  by  virtue  of 


A    FUGITIVE   FROM    INJUSTICE 

his  sane  views  upon  the  tariff  than  because  of  his 
passion  for  learning.  He  inclined  toward  personal 
liberty  and  preferred  not  to  exert  himself  in  any 
matter  until  urged  in  influential  quarters.  Some 
how  those  parents  who  had  seen  Garvin's  new  as 
sistant  going  about  his  duties  had  not  arisen  as  one 
parent  to  force  the  stranger  to  associate  with  their 
children  in  the  halls  of  learning.  So  a  week  had 
passed  since  the  discovery  of  "Chicago,"  and  his 
life  was  still  one  glad,  sweet  Saturday. 

It  was  understood  that  the  globe-trotter  was  to 
spend  the  winter  in  Lakeville  safe  from  the  minions 
of  the  law,  but  that  he  was  presently  to  abandon  his 
summer  home  in  the  back  yard  and  move  about 
twenty  feet  nearer  Jimmy  Garvin's  stove.  As  the 
days  went  on,  his  personal  appearance  did  not  im 
prove  or  his  popularity  wane.  Jimmy  was  an  in 
dulgent  foster-parent  in  matters  of  washing  and 
combing,  and  there  was  ill-concealed  envy  among  the 
unfortunates  who  had  to  live  in  houses  and  hobnob 
with  parents. 

At  times  favored  persons  were  allowed  to  ride  about 
with  the  young  driver  upon  his  deliveries — Jimmy's 
outfit  was  a  splendid  system  of  transportation  for 
one  whose  time  was  one's  own.  Whoever  bought  a 
bag  of  "middlins"  or  "shorts"  in  those  days  might 
expect  to  have  it  delivered  with  cheers.  As  many 
as  six  boys  sometimes  participated  in  carrying  in  a 

117 


RANNY 

single  bag  of  feed.  Frequently  "Chicago"  made  an 
entire  trip  without  being  called  upon  to  do  any  work 
except  mental. 

Jimmy  Garvin's  staff  of  ungentlemanly  assistants 
loved  their  work  so  much  that  they  hailed  with  de 
light  each  new  possibility  for  one  of  these  seeing- 
Lakeville  tours.  When  old  Mr.  Jennings,  who  lived 
across  the  street  from  the  Dukes  family,  came  into 
Garvin's  to  buy  something  to  keep  together  the  body 
and  soul  of  his  sorrel  horse,  Nelly,  he  met  with  a 
surprising  ovation. 

"Them  boys  '11  drive  me  crazy,"  said  Jimmy,  un- 
convincingly.  "They  are  regalar  cautions!" 

Mr.  Jennings  might  have  suggested  ways  to  rid  a 
store  of  cautions,  but  he  adopted  an  even  less  de 
sirable  course;  he  waylaid  Ranny's  father  that 
evening  and  had  speech  with  him. 

"What's  this  I  hear  about  your  hanging  around 
Garvin's  feed-store?"  Father  asked  at  the  supper- 
table.  "What  do  you  do  there?" 

"Oh,  nuthin',"  said  Ranny,  uneasily.  "Jus'  have 
a  little  fun." 

Mother  seemed  to  see  a  great  light.  "Well — I— 
wondered,"  she  said.  "You've  nearly  ruined  that 
good  school  suit." 

Ranny  looked  himself  over,  but  failed  to  see  any 
thing  amiss  with  his  clothes.  Of  course  he  had 
never  set  himself  up  for  a  dandy. 

118 


A    FUGITIVE    FROM   INJUSTICE 

"I  don't  think,"  Father  went  on,  "that  you  ought 
to  spend  so  much  time  with  that  strange  boy." 

Ranny  tried  to  think  of  something  that  would 
recommend  "Chicago"  in  home  circles,  his  mind 
automatically  rejecting  such  virtues  as  familiarity 
with  the  police.  He  had  to  fall  back  upon  philan 
thropy.  ' ' The  poor  fella's  got  no  father  an'  mother," 
he  said. 

"Who  is  this  boy,  anyway?"  asked  Mother,  with 
some  concern.  "I  haven't  seen  him." 

"Looks  like  a  slum  boy,"  said  Father.  "He's 
what  you  might  call  the  offscouring  of  our  great 
cities." 

Mother  was  able,  while  shopping  the  next  forenoon, 
to  get  a  private  view  of  the  offscouring  of  our  great 
cities.  From  her  report  at  noon  Ranny  judged  that 
Mother's  visit  had  been  ill-timed.  At  an  hour  when 
other  youth  were  fitting  themselves  for  a  finer  and 
nobler  future,  "Chicago,"  it  seems,  was  in  front  of  his 
place  of  business,  standing  upon  one  hand  for  the 
entertainment  of  Sim  Coley,  the  janitor  of  the  hose- 
house.  It  is  unfair  to  judge  a  stranger  by  his  ap 
pearance  when  upside  down,  or  to  blame  him  for  the 
poor  reputation  of  bystanders.  But  the  parental 
mind  closes  up  tight  at  the  approach  of  anything  in 
the  least  unusual.  As  a  result,  Ranny  was  forbidden 
henceforth  to  attend  Jimmy  Garvin's  farinaceous 
salon. 

9  119 


RANNY 

Ranny  always  obeyed  such  decrees  literally,  laying 
down  as  he  went  highly  technical  rules  for  his  own 
guidance.  For  the  case  in  hand  he  decided  that 
Jimmy's  domain  ended  at  the  front  door  of  his  shop. 
Since  "Chicago"  interpreted  his  duties  as  clerk  with 
great  breadth  and  gave  himself  free  range  of  the 
business  district,  Ranny  was  able  to  enjoy,  quite 
lawfully,  some  delightful  odds  and  ends  of  the 
criminal's  society. 

But  the  arrangement  was  far  from  satisfactory, 
for  untactful  people  like  Ted  Blake  became  arrogant 
about  their  superior  privileges.  On  the  day  after 
the  new  law  went  into  effect,  "Chicago,"  ably  as 
sisted,  was  doing  his  clerking  at  the  town  pump. 
The  slum  boy  was  luring  thirsty  mouths  to  the 
spout  with  specious  promises  to  pump  easy.  There 
had  already  been  two  mild  cases  of  strangulation  and 
a  pleasant  time  was  being  had  by  all  when  Ted  made 
a  proposal  that  ruined  everything. 

"Le's  go  to  the  store,"  he  said,  "an'  chew  some 
wheat." 

Now  wheat-chewing  was  a  purely  social  vice. 
Groups  of  chewers  pretended  to  esteem  it  highly, 
but  nobody  chewed  wheat  except  in  the  place  pro 
vided  by  the  management. 

"Aw,  come  on  an'  have  some  fun,"  Ranny  pro 
tested.  "Wheat  ain't  chewin'-gum." 

Ranny  had  truth  on  his  side,  but  public  opinion 

120 


A   FUGITIVE    FROM    INJUSTICE 

was  with  Ted.  Ranny  therefore  parted  with  his 
fellows  at  the  door  of  Garvin's  wheat-chewing  den 
and  took  his  troubled  mind  home.  As  a  reward  for 
his  obedience  he  was  requested  to  "mind  the  baby." 

In  that  hour  of  discontent  Ranny  found  his  baby 
sister  faulty  as  a  fireside  companion.  Time  would 
cure  her  of  being  a  baby  (as  it  had  cured  him),  but 
she  would  never  get  over  being  a  sister.  She  had  no 
accomplishments,  she  knew  nothing  of  life  or  crime. 
How  different  things  would  be  if  there  were  a  person 
like  "Chicago"  in  the  house,  sharing  one's  bed  and 
board.  If  he  could  only  induce  his  parents  to  open 
their  doors  to  the  stranger  within  Lakeville's  gates, 
he  would  have  exclusive  rights  to  "Chicago's"  so 
ciety  in  perpetuity  against  a  world  of  envious  Ted 
Blakes. 

"Chicago,"  laundered  and  tailored,  might  lose 
something  of  his  value  as  scenery,  but  he  would 
always  have  his  past.  A  past  cannot  be  washed  and 
combed  away.  And  perhaps  at  night,  in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  bedroom,  when  parents  fondly  supposed 
that  they  were  deep  in  innocent  sleep,  "Chicago" 
would  reel  out  agitating  tales. 

With  Ranny,  to  hope  was  to  plan.  He  promptly 
evolved  a  scheme  for  bringing  his  parents  and  his 
friend  together.  In  pursuance  of  the  open-door 
policy  he  isolated  his  victim  late  the  next  after 
noon, 

121 


RANNY 

"Hey,  'Chicago,'"  he  said,  "come  on  down  to  my 
house  a  minute.  I  got  sumpin'  to  show  you." 

This  was  at  the  twilight  zone  of  Garvin's  domin 
ions,  and  the  other  roisterers  were  at  the  moment 
inside.  As  the  fugitive  from  injustice  always  had 
his  hat  on,  except  possibly  when  he  was  asleep,  he 
was  able  to  depart  without  saying  anything  to  his 
employer.  At  home  Ranny  introduced  his  guest  to 
the  mysteries  of  the  woodshed  and  the  drug-store. 

"This  is  the  secrut  den,"  he  explained.  "A  per 
son  could  hide  here  fine  if  anybody  was  a-lookin' 
for  them." 

This  pointed  remark  arrested  the  visitor's  atten 
tion.  They  sold  drugs  unrestrainedly  to  each  other 
for  a  time  and  the  new-comer  was  taken  into  the 
firm.  The  autumn  light  was  failing,  and  from 
the  kitchen  there  came  odors  as  of  prospective 
supper. 

Knowing  that  Jimmy  Garvin  did  not  furnish  his 
guest  with  anything  elaborate  in  the  way  of  eating, 
Ranny  drew  his  companion  well  into  the  zone  of 
fragrance.  He  needed  every  aid  in  his  delicate  social 
task  of  bringing  together  a  reluctant  guest  and  an 
unwilling  hostess. 

The  two  youths  sat  upon  the  edge  of  the  back 
porch  in  the  deepening  dusk  and  did  as  near  nothing 
as  practicable.  In  the  Indian-summer  weather  the 
kitchen  door  stood  open  because  of  the  smoke  incident 

122 


A   FUGITIVE    FROM    INJUSTICE 

to  broiling  steak.  An  analytical  nose  might  also 
have  detected  the  presence  of  rapidly  crisping  po 
tatoes.  An  oven  door  was  heard  to  open  and  shut 
and  shortly  the  atmosphere  was  enriched  by  the 
odor  of  biscuits  approaching  maturity.  The  three 
elements  combined  to  form  a  dangerous  gas  which 
paralyzed  the  will-power,  with  symptoms  of  mouth 
watering. 

"Oo,  that  smells  good!"  exclaimed  Ranny,  merci 
lessly. 

"I  gotta  go  now,"  replied  "Chicago,"  gruffly,  but 
he  did  not  do  so. 

Presently  there  were  noises  indoors  indicating  that 
Father  had  come  home  for  supper.  And  soon 
Mother  appeared  at  the  open  door. 

"Come  in  now,  Ranny,"  she  said. 

Ranny  arose  nervously,  "Chicago"  with  some 
difficulty.  Ranny  scratched  his  knee  in  pure  em 
barrassment.  His  plan  had  reached  its  crucial  mo 
ment.  Mother  seemed  to  be  battling  with  conflict 
ing  emotions ;  ' '  Chicago ' '  stood  irresolute,  suspended 
between  personal  liberty  and  home  cooking.  In  the 
tricky  light  from  the  kitchen  he  looked  less  like  the 
offscouring  of  our  great  cities  than  like  a  hungry 
little  boy. 

"Won't  you  come  in  and  have  supper  with 
Ranny?"  It  had  come  at  last!  What  Mother's 
words  lacked  in  enthusiasm,  Ranny — and  the 

123 


RANNY 

poisonous    gases — supplied.     The    slum    boy    sur 
rendered  without  firing  a  shot. 

"Let  your  friend  wash  first,"  said  the  hostess,  with 
rare  tact. 

Privately  to  his  guest  Ranny  said,  "I  gotta  wash 
every  night — neck  an'  ever'thing."  This  was  at 
once  an  apology  and  a  suggestion. 

The  vagabond,  scrubbed  and  combed,  presented 
rather  an  elegant  appearance.  His  long  wet  black 
hair  was  plastered  down  tight,  although  as  time 
passed  over  his  head  little  clumps  arose  here  and 
there  like  second-growth  timber.  His  clothes  had 
apparently  left  buttons  in  all  our  principal  cities, 
but  when  he  was  once  seated  at  the  supper-table 
this  defect  was  not  so  noticeable.  The  real  trouble 
was  yet  to  develop;  "Chicago"  did  not  shine 
brightly  in  conversation.  With  supper  well  ad 
vanced,  he  had  made  but  one  remark,  and  that 
not  notably  brilliant.  In  reply  to  Father's  query 
as  to  whether  he  would  have  more  biscuits  he 
said,  "Yes,  ma'am." 

The  only  thing  that  could  be  said  for  this  state 
ment  was  that  it  was  true;  the  boy  did  have  more 
biscuits  as  well  as  everything  else  that  was  suggested. 
He  ate  in  an  efficient  and  workman-like  fashion ;  he 
ate  as  if  he  had  not  seen  solid  food  since  the  police 
had  chased  him  out  of  St.  Louis  and  Oregon.  The 
conversational  deadlock  was  broken  by  Father. 

124 


A  FUGITIVE  FROM  INJUSTICE 

"Will  you  have  some  more  steak?"  he  asked. 
"You,  I  mean.  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  your 
name." 

The  visitor  bore  the  look  of  one  whose  worst  fears 
have  been  realized.  His  host  had  put  the  thing 
in  such  a  way  that  he  had  to  tell  his  name  in  order 
to  get  the  alluring  morsel  upon  the  carving-fork. 
For  the  second  time  his  desires  got  the  better  of  his 
reason. 

"My  name  is  Roy,"  he  said,  faintly. 

"Oh  yes,  Roy,"  said  Father,  fulfilling  his  part  of 
the  implied  bargain. 

"That's  a  nice  name,"  Mother  added. 

It  was  a  nice  enough  name  for  domestic  use, 
Ranny  thought,  but  vastly  inferior  to  those  con 
jured  up  by  Ted  out  of  his  wide  reading.  "Mexico 
Mike"  was  among  the  mildest  of  these. 

"I  understand  you  come  from  Chicago,"  said 
Father.  "Where  did  you  live  there?" 

Roy  fixed  his  gaze  upon  his  devastated  plate  and 
addressed  it  confidentially,  "State  Street." 

"That  so?     Where  on  State  Street?" 

The  boy  was  evidently  ashamed  of  the  neighbor 
hood,  for  he  answered,  with  great  reluctance,  "By 
Michigan  Boulevard." 

"How  things  change  in  these  big  cities,"  Father 
said,  with  a  shake  of  the  head.  "When  I  was  in 
Chicago  only  two  or  three  months  ago  State  Street 

125 


RANNY 

and   Michigan   Boulevard   didn't   come  near  each 
other." 

For  some  reason  the  conversation  died  here,  just 
when  things  were  getting  sociable.  Father  and 
Mother  exchanged  cryptic  looks,  and  there  were  no 
further  excursions  into  Roy's  past. 

When  supper  was  over  Father  turned  to  Ranny 
and  said:  "You  run  along  now  and  help  Mother 
clear  up.  Roy  and  I  are  going  to  have  a  little 
talk." 

Ranny  was  so  happy  at  this  news  that  he  was 
prepared  to  endure  both  separation  and  dish-wiping. 
Things  were  coming  splendidly.  Father,  too,  had 
discovered  that  "Chicago's"  place  was  in  the  home. 
At  this  very  moment  Father  was  probably  pleading 
with  him  to  come  and  be  a  brother  to  Ranny.  The 
alliteration  was  a  happy  discovery;  "Ranny  and 
Roy"  would  look  fine  in  the  drug  business. 

Mother  kept  him  longer  than  usual — at  least  it 
seemed  longer — but  at  last  he  was  released  and  ran 
into  the  sitting-room  to  welcome  the  new  member. 
He  stopped  in  consternation  at  the  threshold; 
something  had  gone  sadly  wrong.  If  it  had  been 
anybody  less  tough,  one  would  have  said  the  boy 
had  been  crying.  His  face  was  streaked  as  if  a  coat- 
sleeve  had  brushed  across  a  damp  surface.  Also 
he  was  taking  deep  gasps  which  are  the  aftermath  of 
tears. 

126 


A   FUGITIVE    FROM    INJUSTICE 

"What  'd  he  do?"  asked  Ranny,  jumping  to  the 
conclusion  that  his  guest  had  been  acting  up. 

"Your  friend,"  said  Father,  soberly,  "has  decided 
that  a  home  is  a  pretty  good  place,  after  all." 
Ranny's  heart  gave  a  joyous  leap  and  turned  over 
twice.  "So  he  is  going  back  to-morrow  to  Rushton, 
where  he  lives."  The  rest  was  addressed  to  Mother, 
who  had  just  entered  the  room.  "Your  cooking 
seems  to  have  made  Roy  homesick.  He's  never 
been  away  from  his  folks  before." 

Ranny's  high  hopes,  and  what  little  faith  in  man 
kind  he  still  had  after  eight  disillusioning  years  of 
life,  perished  at  Father's  words.  The  fellow  was  an 
impostor.  He  had  never  lived  in  Chicago  or  sneaked 
down  the  back  streets  of  Oregon.  He  was  just  an 
ordinary  boy  living  in  a  little  town  not  more  than 
eighteen,  or  maybe  fifty,  miles  away.  Probably 
Lakeville  was  the  largest  place  he  had  ever  seen! 

It  was  decided  that  Roy  was  to  spend  the  night 
with  them — Father  said  that  Sheriff  Sembridge  had 
poor  accommodations  for  transients.  Father  then 
went  down-town  to  telephone  to  Roy's  home  and 
also  to  break  the  news  to  Jimmy  Garvin.  Mean 
while  the  fugitive  was  very  poor  company.  The  idea 
of  a  family  reunion  seemed  distasteful  to  him;  he 
gave  Ranny  a  harrowing  account  of  the  chores  and 
school  he  had  to  undergo  when  at  home  and  took 
the  unreasonable  view  that  it  was  Ranny  who  was 

127 


RANNY 

responsible  for  sending  him  back.  More  than  likely 
others  would  take  a  similar  view.  As  far  as  he  could 
see,  everything  was  lost,  including  honor. 

At  the  news  that  his  father  would  come  to-morrow 
to  take  him  home  Roy's  face  expressed  anything 
but  filial  delight. 

"Don't  worry,  boy,"  Father  said,  "he's  glad 
enough  to  get  you  back.  He  says  he  thought  you 
had  gone  to  Chicago  because  you  have  always  been 
so  crazy  to  see  it.  He's  had  the  police  there  looking 
for  you  for  a  week." 

There  was  a  grain  of  comfort  in  this  last  piece  of 
news — a  grain  which  presently  began  to  sprout. 
When  an  owl  hooted  in  the  alley  near  the  woodshed 
—that  is,  it  was  supposed  to  pass  as  a  hoot  among 
the  uninitiated — Ranny  went  into  the  back  yard  and 
made  a  sound  like  a  very  discreet  owl. 

"  'Sst!  Let  us  in,"  came  Ted  Blake's  whisper. 

Ranny  unhooked  the  gate  of  the  high  board  fence 
and  six  shadowy  forms  filed  into  the  yard. 

"What's  ever'body  runnin'  around  for?"  asked 
Ranny.  "This  ain't  Hallowe'en." 

"Is  anybody  a-listenin'  here?"  asked  Ted,  dramat 
ically. 

' '  Nope ;  only  me, ' '  replied  Ranny. 

"Chicago's  run  away."  This  unauthorized  ver 
sion  came  from  the  amplest  of  the  shadowy  forms. 

"Shut  up,  'Fatty,'"  said  Ted,  whose  climax  had 

128 


A   FUGITIVE    FROM   INJUSTICE 

thus  been  spoiled.  "Ya  want  everybody  in  town  to 
know  it?" 

"Jimmy  Garvin  don't  know  where  he  is."  This 
was  in  Tom  Rucker's  voice. 

Ted  gave  up  all  idea  of  preserving  discipline. 
"We're  out  a-huntin'  'im,"  he  said. 

Now  that  his  eyes  had  become  accustomed  to  the 
light,  Ranny  saw  that  all  parties  were  in  disguise — 
that  is,  their  caps  were  wrong  side  out.  Simultane 
ously  he  realized  that,  whatever  the  morrow  might 
bring,  the  present  moment  was  rich  with  possibilities. 

"If  I  tell  you  sumpin',"  he  said,  "will  you  keep  it 
secrut?" 

The  conspirators  gathered  close  and  pledged  eter 
nal  silence. 

"I  got  'im  safe.  He's  goin'  away  to-morrow  with 
— a  fella  he  knows." 

"Where's  he  goin'?"  Ted  Blake  had  lost  his 
mantle  of  arrogance. 

"It's  all  right  where  he's  goin',"  Ranny  replied. 
"Mebbe  I'll  tell  you  some  day.  His  real  name,  too." 

There  was  a  moment  of  flattering  silence.  Ranny 
utilized  the  time  well — for  creative  work  never  came 
easy  to  him. 

"Listen  here,"  he  said.  "Ever 'body  do  what  I 
tell  you  an'  they  won't  be  no  trouble.  Don't  let 
anybody  see  you  leavin'  here,  the  sheriff  or  anybody 
like  that.  Go  back  through  the  alley"-— the  idea 

129 


RANNY 

was  getting  bigger  and  bigger — "one  at  a  time. 
Don't  go  near  no  lectric  lights  or  anything  like  that. 
You  go  first,  'Fatty.'  If  you  get  away  safe,  hoot 
like  a  owl." 

"I'm  a  rotten  hooter,"  "Fatty"  objected.  "Let 
Ted  go  first." 

"I  like  it  here  all  right,"  said  Ted. 

"You  wouldn't  like  it  here  all  right  if  you  knew 
what  I  know."  With  these  words  Ranny  opened 
the  back-yard  gate  about  an  inch,  listened  intently, 
then  closed  it  again.  "The  Chicago  police,"  he 
whispered,  "have  been  lookin'  for  'im  for  a  week!" 


VII 

DIVIDING   UP 

MRS.  LEONARD'S  confectionery,  toy,  and 
notion  store  (commodities  named  in  the 
order  of  their  importance)  was  a  puzzling  phenom 
enon.  It  was  not  "down-town,"  like  a  regular  store, 
but  right  among  the  residences;  in  fact,  Mrs. 
Leonard  herself  lived  in  a  house  adjoining  the  little 
frame  building  and  connected  with  it  at  the  rear. 
It  was  the  kind  of  shop  people's  mothers  told  them 
to  "run  over  to "  and  get  a  spool  of  thread  or  a  paper 
of  pins  or  rubbers  for  the  Mason  jars.  Its  single 
show-window,  rightly  considered,  was  a  clock  that 
told  the  time  of  year.  In  February  it  put  forth 
valentines— pretty  ones  that  girls  affected,  and  de 
licious,  funny,  ugly  ones  to  settle  old  scores  and 
start  new  ones.  As  soon  as  the  snow  disappeared 
jackstones  and  marbles  and  baseballs  bloomed  in 
this  sunny,  sheltered  place,  and,  almost  before  one 
knew  it,  a  flannel  rabbit  and  colored  eggs  (the  same 
rabbit  every  year,  but  different  eggs).  On  some 
bright  morning  in  June  as  a  person  was  walking 


RANNY 

along,  thinking  of  something  else  entirely,  he  sud 
denly  discovered  that  Mrs.  Leonard's  window  was 
riotously  unsafe  and  insane  with  red  firecrackers, 
Roman  candles,  and  boxes  containing  a  few  tor 
pedoes  and  a  great  deal  of  sawdust.  At  this  period 
mothers  always  looked  worried,  and  said,  "Oh  my 
gracious,  it's  coming  again!" 

Passing  quickly  over  the  drab  days  of  school 
tablets  and  pencil-boxes,  one  existed  somehow  until 
a  certain  fair,  crisp  afternoon  in  early  December, 
when  the  window  was  a  promised  land  of  sweetness 
and  wonder.  There  was  candy  in  infinite  variety 
and  inconceivable  quantity — trays  of  chocolates  and 
cocoanut,  peanut  bars,  gum-drops  glistening  with 
sugar,  striped  sticks  in  glass  jars,  red  drops,  beans 
surpassing  anything  in  nature,  licorice,  broken  taffy, 
foot-hills  of  assorted  joy  circling  a  mixed-candy 
mountain  of  pure  delight — or  approximately  pure. 
Crabbed  age  estimated  that  there  was  enough  stuff 
in  this  one  window  to  bring  a  toothache  to  every 
home  in  Lakeville ;  but  youth  gazed  gregariously  and 
wished  it  had  a  million  dollars. 

On  such  a  day  as  this,  Randolph  Harrington 
Dukes,  with  one  cheek  distended,  stood  upon  the 
steps  of  this  emporium  of  delight  and  contemplated 
our  social  and  economic  system.  His  deliberate, 
eight-going-on-nine  opinion  of  it  was  far  from  flat 
tering;  any  one  could  see  that  there  was  no  justice 

132 


DIVIDING    UP 


in  the  arrangement.  In  spite  of  the  teacher's  fre 
quent  assertion  that  this  is  a  land  of  equality, 
it  was  plain  that  people  were  divided  into  three 
classes.  There  were  the  rich,  like  Mrs.  Leonard, 
who  had  more  candy  than  they  could  eat  (even  by 
eating  nights),  and  yet  who  parted  with  it  only  in 
driblets  and  strictly  in  accordance  with  the  prices 
marked  on  little  pasteboard  tags.  There  were 
those  who,  like  Ranny  himself,  frequently  had 
pennies  to  spend  for  all-day  suckers,  jaw-breakers, 
chewing-gum,  and  such  durable  delights,  with  oc 
casional  five-cent  w  ndfalls  of  soft  and  expensive 
confectionery.  And  then  there  were  the  poor  who 
never  had  candy  at  all. 

It  was  the  spectacle  of  Mary  Murray  and  her 
little  brother  John,  standing  hungrily  before  the 
show-window  and  typifying  grinding  poverty,  that 
started  all  this  philosophy.  Mary  and  John  lived 
with  shiftless  parents  (Ranny  had  "shiftless"  on 
high  authority)  in  the  short  street  between  the 
railroad  and  the  marsh.  The  real  name  of  this 
thoroughfare  was  Water  Street,  but  people  always 
called  it  "Frogtown,"  and  then,  when  it  was  too 
late,  looked  cautiously  about  to  see  whether  anybody 
was  present  who  lived  there.  "Frogtown"  was  a 
good  place  to  go  when  parents  would  not  admit  that 
the  lake  was  solid  enough  to  slide  on ;  and  one  spring 
of  joyful  memory  the  people  there  had  to  go  to  their 


RANNY 

houses  in  boats.  In  spite  of  its  aquatic  advantages, 
it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  only  the  poor  lived  in 
"Frogtown";  stylish  adults  seldom  went  there  ex 
cept  to  see  somebody  about  the  washing. 

Young  John,  who  had  been  breathing  upon  the 
window  until  the  scenery  was  obscured,  turned  and 
observed  Ranny's  lumpy  jaw. 

"Gimme  candy,"  he  said. 

Mary  jerked  him  by  the  arm  because  it  isn't 
nice  to  ask  for  things,  but  her  shawl  fluttered 
loose  and  she  suddenly  seemed  cold  and  unhappy; 
a  hole  in  her  stocking  showed  her  skin  all  rough 
and  blue. 

Ranny  shifted  his  indivisible  jaw-breaker  to  his 
front  teeth  and  exposed  it  to  the  public  gaze. 

"I  only  had  one  cent,  honest,"  he  said,  slapping 
flabby  pockets  with  empty  hands. 

Young  John  was  so  disheartened  at  this  report 
that  Ranny  was  sorry  he  had  not  plunged  on  three- 
for-a-cent  caramels.  Charity  being  out  of  the  ques 
tion,  he  went  in  for  uncomplimentary  thoughts 
about  the  scheme  of  things.  His  reflections  lasted 
even  longer  than  the  jaw-breaker. 

He  brought  up  the  subject  that  evening  when  he 
and  Father  were  reading  in  the  sitting-room — that  is, 
Father  was  reading  and  Ranny  was  lying  on  his 
stomach  within  the  light  circle  on  the  floor,  looking 
at  the  animal  pictures  in  a  book  about  Henry  M. 


DIVIDING   UP 


Stanley.  Mother  was  indulging  her  queer  taste  for 
mending. 

"Father,"  he  asked,  as  he  shifted  his  weight  upon 
one  elbow,  "why  are  some  people  poor  and  some 
rich?" 

"That's  what  I'd  like  to  know."  Father  smiled, 
but  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  the  paper. 

"It  ain't  right,"  Ranny  insisted,  "for  some  folks 
to  have  all  the  candy  that  way." 

At  this  Father  dropped  the  paper  and  drew  the 
boy  to  his  side. 

"Look  here,  son,  we're  not  exactly  rich,  but  we 
have  plenty  to  eat  and  a  comfortable  home.  And 
I  guess  you  get  all  the  candy  you  need.  It's  bad 
for  the  teeth,  anyway."  Thereupon  with  true  adult 
logic  the  manufacturer  of  sterling  farm -wagons 
reached  into  his  pocket  and  gave  up  two  cents — as 
if  that  small  amount  would  muffle  the  cry  of  injustice 
without  hurting  the  teeth. 

Jingling  the  profits  of  this  otherwise  sad  misun 
derstanding,  Ranny  made  a  fresh  start. 

"How  does  people  get  rich?" 

"If  you  are  honest  and  work  hard  and  save  money 
some  day  you  will  be  rich" — here  Father  faltered 
(perhaps  because  of  Mother's  disconcerting  smile) 
and  ended,  weakly,  "or,  anyway,  not  very  poor." 

"Does  rich  people  work  harder  'n  poor?" 

"No,   no!"   said  Father,   impatiently,   and  took 


RANNY 

refuge  behind  his  paper  and  the  time-worn  pretext, 
"You'll  understand  these  things  better  when  you 
are  older." 

"But  remember  this,  dear,"  Mother  added,  "you 
should  always  be  kind  to  the  poor — and  most  of  all 
in  this  Christmas  season." 

Ranny  went  back  to  darkest  Africa,  but  though  his 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  a  deliciously  terrifying  gorilla 
about  to  eat  a  tree,  his  thoughts  were  upon  the 
queer  world  close  at  home.  When  one  has  a  dis 
appearing  father  and  a  mother  who  is  more  in 
terested  in  household  matters  and  the  baby  than 
in  public  affairs  one  naturally  learns  to  rely  much 
upon  personal  experience.  It  was  pleasant  there 
before  the  coal  fire;  Ranny  had  two  cents  in  his 
pocket  and  a  school-free  Saturday  ahead  of  him,  yet 
he  was  not  happy;  the  candyless,  shiftless  Murrays 
had  settled  down  in  his  consciousness  and  refused 
to  move  out.  Ranny,  who,  all  unknown  to  himself, 
was  living  a  rapid  resume  of  the  history  of  the  race, 
had  arrived  on  that  crisp  December  afternoon  at 
the  era  of  the  social  conscience. 

Father's  talk  about  working  hard  and  saving 
money  had  no  bearing  upon  the  present  crisis;  the 
Murrays  could  not  be  expected  to  hunger  for  candy 
until  Ranny  had  grown  rich  through  frugality.  This 
was  a  childhood  problem  and  had  to  be  settled  by 
more  direct  methods.  Once,  when  the  boys  were 

136 


DIVIDING    UP 


playing  shinny  with  a  tin  can,  Bud  Hicks 's  mother 
came  out  and  gave  him  five  warm  cookies.  It  is  a 
well-known  law  that  everything  must  be  divided 
equally,  yet  they  had  to  sit  on  Bud's  head  and  poke 
him  with  shinny- sticks  before  they  could  make  him 
remember  this  rule.  And  then  the  cookies  were 
practically  ruined. 

Before  Ranny  went  to  sleep  that  night  he  had  a 
matured  plan.  To-morrow  he  would  go  to  Mrs. 
Leonard  and  ask  her  civilly  to  do  the  right  thing  by 
the  poor.  If  she  refused  he  would  have  to  take 
matters  into  his  own  hands.  Public  opinion  would 
back  him  up ;  the  teacher  would  probably  hear  about 
the  affair  and  commend  him  openly.  "Frogtown" 
would  be  contented  and  happy,  except  for  a  tooth 
ache  here  and  there.  Besides,  he  would  get  his 
share  with  the  rest. 

The  next  morning  he  started  out  early  so  that  he 
might  set  our  economic  system  to  rights  and  get 
home  in  time  for  dinner.  Leaving  by  the  back  gate, 
he  carried  on  his  arm  a  basket  which,  before  it  be 
came  an  instrument  of  social  justice,  had  been  used 
for  bringing  in  kindlings.  For  a  moment  he  sought 
inspiration  before  the  toothsome  show-window,  then 
boldly  mounted  the  steps.  As  he  opened  the  door  a 
bell  tinkled  faintly  somewhere  in  the  rear  and 
presently  Mrs.  Leonard's  ample  form  appeared 
through  the  parted  curtains. 


RANNY 

"Was  there  something  this  morning,  Ranny?"  she 
asked,  as  she  put  on  her  spectacles. 

Ranny  was  fully  prepared.  "I  need  lotsa  candy 
to  give  to  the  poor." 

The  shopkeeper  looked  surprised,  but  as  cheerful 
as  possible — though  that  was  not  too  cheerful  at 
best,  because  she  had  a  strange  growth  under  one 
eye  which  gave  her  a  perpetually  tearful  appearance. 
Ranny  had  often  wondered  how  anybody  who  lived 
adjacent  to  so  much  free  candy  could  be  so  unhappy. 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 

"About  a  basketful."  Ranny  rested  this  re 
ceptacle  upon  the  counter. 

' '  Good  land,  child !  How  much  've  you  got  to 
spend?" 

"I  want  it  free.  Many  persons  is  too  poor  to  buy 
candy." 

"No,  Ranny,  I  can't  do  that." 

"I'll  pay  ya  two  cents  for  mine."  As  evidence  of 
good  faith,  Ranny  displayed  the  specie  together  with 
some  irrelevant  pocket  fuzz. 

"No,  I  can't  afford  to  give  away  no  candy." 
With  this  weak  rejoinder,  Mrs.  Leonard  turned  to  a 
more  promising  shopper  who  had  just  entered.  As 
Ranny  was  closing  the  front  door  he  distinctly  heard 
the  words: 

"That  Dukes  boy  has  the  queerest  ideas — " 

Around  the  corner,  where  the  little  store  turned  a 

138 


DIVIDING   UP 


windowless  side  to  Jefferson  Street,  he  collected  his 
scattered  moral  forces.  The  first  repulse,  while  dis 
appointing,  was  not  wholly  unexpected;  nothing  in 
his  experience  had  led  him  to  believe  that  Mrs. 
Leonard's  heart  bled  for  the  poor  and  shiftless.  The 
next  step  required  strategy.  Ranny  saw  the  current 
customer  go  away  and  set  himself  to  wait  for  an 
other;  old  Mr.  Jennings  stopped  before  the  shop 
window,  but  he  did  not  go  inside.  He  only  shook  his 
head  and  murmured,  "How  time  flies!" 

At  last  a  woman  came  across  the  street,  wiping 
her  steaming  hands  upon  her  apron,  and  entered  the 
store.  This  was  Ranny 's  opportunity.  By  watch 
ing  through  the  show-window  he  contrived  to  be  go 
ing  in  just  as  this  purchaser  was  coming  out — a 
manceuver  based  upon  the  sc  entific  fact  that  the 
bell  in  the  back  room  jingled  just  the  same  no  matter 
which  way  one  was  bound ;  Mrs.  Leonard  would  not 
be  expecting  any  one.  The  ruse  was  entirely  suc 
cessful,  and  Ranny  slipped  into  the  room  just  in  time 
to  see  the  back  curtains  fall  together,  leaving  him 
alone  in  the  candy-store  with  a  kindling-basket  and 
a  firm  moral  purpose. 

Without  delay  he  attacked  the  window — the  trays 
first  because  they  were  easy  to  dump,  next  the  open 
boxes  of  caramels,  and  presently  the  broken  taffy. 
He  was  starting  to  remove  the  mixed-candy  moun 
tain  with  a  scoop  thoughtfully  provided  by  the  man- 

139 


RANNY 

agement  when  he  discovered  the  white,  flat  ends  of 
two  noses  pressed  against  the  window-glass.  Though 
they  were  not  Murray  noses,  he  threw  a  benevolent 
smile  in  their  direction  and  went  on  with  his  work, 
filling  his  basket  hurriedly  and,  except  for  one 
trifling  gum-drop,  without  loss  from  personal  con 
sumption. 

Outside,  the  disinherited — now  numbering  two 
boys  and  a  girl — hailed  him  hopefully,  and  with  an 
unnecessary  "Come  on"  the  premature  Santa  Claus 
started  in  the  direction  of  "Frogtown." 

There  followed  the  finest  example  of  speedy  mo 
bilization  that  the  peaceful  community  had  ever 
known.  By  a  kind  of  juvenile  wireless  telegraphy 
the  glorious  news  flashed  down  Jefferson  Street  that  a 
person  of  tender  years  was  carrying  an  open  market- 
basket  of  assorted  sweetmeats.  Peaceful  pursuits 
were  abandoned;  all  kindling-splitting  instantly 
ceased,  nails  were  left  half-driven,  skates  half- 
sharpened,  cats  scared  half  to  death;  bows  and 
arrows  dropped  from  the  hands  of  astonished  Indians. 
In  the  first  block  Ranny  was  the  center  of  noisy  cu 
riosity;  in  the  second,  the  leader  of  a  mob;  in  the 
third,  the  Pied  Piper  of  Lakeville. 

"Fatty"  Hartman  came,  dancing  ponderously  in 
anticipatory  delight.  Tom  Rucker  clambered  over 
a  picket  fence,  exclaiming  as  he  fell : 

"  Ya  know  me,  Ranny — ya  know  your  uncle." 
140 


DIVIDING    UP 


This  became  a  popular  slogan,  and  by  the  time  the 
social  revolutionist  reached  "Frogtown"  he  had  ac 
quired  a  prodigious  number  of  uncles — and  several 
aunts. 

Ranny  had  proceeded  quietly,  answering  no  ques 
tions,  recognizing  no  relationships — a  little  frightened 
at  the  extent  of  his  success,  but  unalterable  in  his  pur 
pose.  In  "Frogtown"  the  uncle  supply  was  greatly 
increased  (for  "Frogtown"  atoned  for  the  small  size 
of  its  houses  by  the  large  size  of  its  families)  and  at 
the  center  of  its  short  and  only  street  the  redistribu 
tion  of  wealth  began. 

Generous  but  firm,  Ranny  restrained  a  tendency  on 
the  part  of  the  Collander  boy  to  grab,  and  doled  out 
the  pieces  one  at  a  time. 

"Jes*  wait  a  minute,  can't  you?"  he  kept  shout 
ing  above  the  din.  "Ever'body  '11  get  their  share. 
Girls,  too." 

For  a  moment  this  program  went  smoothly,  but, 
the  news  having  depopulated  the  skating-pond,  there 
came  boys  who  were  larger  and  stronger  than  Ranny 
and  lacking  his  ideas  of  equity.  These  at  once  began 
dipping  into  the  source  of  supply  and  fighting  with 
one  another  for  favored  places.  In  an  instant  Ranny 
became  the  vortex  of  a  candy  riot. 

Suddenly,  however,  all  scrambling  ceased,  and  the 
young  Robin  Hood,  surprised  and  relieved,  was  left 
alone  with  his  somewhat  depleted  basket.  Imme- 

141 


RANNY 

diately  the  cause  of  this  phenomenon  descended  upon 
him,  flashing  violence  from  indignant  spectacles,  and 
a  moment  later  Mrs.  Leonard,  with  a  basket  in  one 
capable  hand  and  a  tender  young  ear  firmly  pinched 
in  the  other,  was  starting  back  toward  her  place  of 
business. 

It  is  a  regrettable  fact  that  the  recipients  of  sweet 
ness  and  light  deserted  Ranny  in  this  extremity; 
they  withdrew  to  trees  and  fences  and  munched 
sedately.  "Fatty"  Hartman  was  suddenly  deeply 
concerned  as  to  whether  the  ice  in  the  gutter  would 
bear  his  vast  weight.  Tom  Rucker  was  cautiously 
proclaiming  himself  the  uncle  of  Bud  Hicks,  who, 
Bud-like,  had  fared  well  in  the  scramble. 

This  was  disillusioning,  but  the  sharpest  serpent's 
tooth  of  all  was  the  attitude  of  the  Murrays,  the 
innocent  cause  of  all  this  anarchy.  Mary  and  John, 
shiftless  as  usual,  had  arrived  late  at  the  uprising 
and  found  it  no  place  for  women  and  children.  As 
they  had  not  shared  in  the  profits,  Mary  saw  no 
reason  why  they  should  share  in  the  prevailing  panic, 
so  they  stood  stolidly  on  the  sidewalk.  As  the 
criminal  passed  he  saw  Mary  pull  her  brother  back 
from  the  contaminating  presence  and  heard  her  say, 
"He  stold  candy!"  To  this  young  John,  deeply  im 
pressed,  replied,  "Gimme  candy,"  and  was  duly 
shaken.  Thus  the  Murrays  bit  the  hand  that  would 
have  fed  them  as  soon  as  it  had  time, 

142 


THE  RECIPIENTS  OF  SWEETNESS  DESERTED  RANNY 
IN  THIS  EXTREMITY 


DIVIDING    UP 


Mrs.  Leonard  did  not  speak  during  that  melan 
choly  journey ;  but  once  inside  the  store,  the  silence 
was  utterly  shattered.  Ranny  learned  that  he  was  a 
burglar  and  a  dangerous  criminal  of  all  kinds,  that 
his  parents  would  have  their  hearts  broken  without 
delay,  and  that  everybody  for  miles  around  would  be 
thrown  into  prison.  Also,  as  if  not  caring  to  wait 
upon  the  slow  processes  of  justice,  Mrs.  Leonard 
administered  at  once  a  thorough  and  workman-like 
spanking. 

The  wireless  had  been  busy  again,  this  time  at 
tuned  to  the  adult  ear.  Two  neighbor  women  and 
the  driver  for  Alleston's  grocery-wagon  formed  a 
sympathetic  audience  for  Mrs.  Leonard's  account 
of  the  outrage.  The  delivery -man  readily  identified 
Ranny  as  one  of  those  abandoned  characters  who  are 
forever  stealing  rides  on  the  back  of  his  wagon  when 
goodness  knew  it  was  hard  enough  to  remember 
where  everything  went.  One  woman  made  cluck 
ing  sounds  indicating  hopeless  resignation ;  the  other, 
absently  taking  a  caramel  out  of  the  basket,  said, 
"This  is  awful" — meaning  the  situation.  Ranny 
ached  to  justify  himself,  but  the  channels  of  informa 
tion  were  choked,  and  what  little  news  he  did  give 
out  was  subjected  to  censorship  by  Mrs.  Leonard. 

Her  garbled  version  had  for  the  unfortunate  young 
man  only  one  illuminating  point :  she  had  been  sum 
moned  to  the  store  by  the  bell  which  rang  as  he  was 

143 


RANNY 

leaving  with  his  spoils.  Thus  science,  which  had 
been  his  ally  at  the  beginning,  had  in  the  end 
betrayed  him.  When  the  candy  magnate  dis 
covered  what  had  happened  to  the  show-window  you 
could  have  knocked  her  down  with  a  feather;  but, 
as  there  had  been  nobody  present  to  perform  this 
service  to  humanity,  she  had  gone  outside  to  look 
around. 

"It  didn't  take  no  detective  to  find  out  which  way 
they  went,"  she  concluded,  modestly.  "I  never 
heard  such  carryings-on  in  all  my  born  days!" 

Throughout  this  ordeal  Ranny  could  see  in  the 
street  clumps  of  ex-uncles  with  tireless  jaws  and 
faces  gory  with  red  drops  staring  at  the  store  and 
gloating  over  the  lively  scenes  that  were  to  come. 
When  the  door  opened  to  let  the  delivery-man 
go  back  to  his  nerve-racking  task  they  scattered  in 
all  directions,  then  gradually  reassembled.  But 
when  Mrs.  Leonard,  having  placed  the  store  in  the 
hands  of  the  candy-eating  lady  for  safe-keeping  and 
secured  a  bonnet  from  the  house,  haled  the  culprit 
forth,  the  rising  generation  melted  into  the  winter 
landscape. 

To  Ranny 's  relief,  Mrs.  Leonard  did  not  start  in  the 
direction  of  the  jail;  at  any  rate,  he  was  not  to  be 
deprived  of  a  last  look  at  the  old  homestead.  With 
many  unnecessary  jerks  she  led  him  to  the  side  door 
of  the  Dukes  residence  and  delivered  him  over  to 

144 


DIVIDING    UP 


Mother,  who  was  at  first  surprised  and  then  fright 
ened.  Mrs.  Leonard  proceeded  to  put  him  in  the 
worst  possible  light,  but  presently  showed  signs  of 
departure. 

"I  'ain't  got  no  call  to  do  it,  Mis'  Dukes,"  she  de 
clared.  "He's  a  bad  boy  and  I  ought  to  have  the 
law  on  him.  But  you  been  a  good  customer  to  me, 
Mis'  Dukes,  and  I  don't  cherish  no  malice." 

"I'm  very,  very  sorry,"  Mother  said,  as  she 
showed  her  visitor  out.  "Mr.  Dukes  will  come  and 
repay  you  for  what  was  taken." 

"Well,  of  course  a  poor  widow  woman  trying  to 
make  ends  meet  can't  afford  no  losses."  While 
making  this  speech  Mrs.  Leonard  turned  her  face 
so  as  to  display  the  permanent  tear-drop. 

Thus  to  her  crimes  of  refusing  aid  to  the  needy,  of 
thwarting  the  ends  of  justice,  and  of  misrepresenting 
the  motives  of  high-minded  people,  the  opulent  Mrs. 
Leonard  added  that  of  hypocrisy. 

Ranny  was  just  beginning  to  realize  that  he  was 
not  to  be  taken  at  once  to  a  felon's  cell  when  he 
received  a  shock  that  transcended  anything  in  his 
experience.  Mother  turned  from  the  closed  door, 
took  a  step  toward  him,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"Oh,  Ranny!  Ranny!"  she  sobbed,  falling  on  her 
knees  before  him  and  clasping  him  convulsively.  ' '  I 
thought  you  were  such  a  good  boy.  I  would  never 
have  believed  that  you  would  steal!" 


RANNY 

"I  didn't  steal  it,"  he  said,  huskily.  "I  took  it  to 
give  to  poor  boys  and  girls." 

' '  Didn't  you  eat  any  yourself  ?"  Mother's  glisten 
ing  eyes  were  looking  deep  into  his. 

"Only  a  1-little,"  he  replied,  miserably.  And  so 
they  cried  together. 

' '  All  right,  dear, ' '  Mother  said  at  last.  ' '  Run  out  in 
the  back  yard  and  don't  go  away.  We  shall  talk  to 
Father  about  it  when  he  comes  to  dinner."  With 
a  final  heart-straining  kiss  Ranny  was  dismissed. 

It  was  a  relief  to  be  out  in  the  bright  sunshine, 
though  his  throat  ached  and  the  "secret  den"  in 
the  woodshed  refused  to  lend  itself  to  illusion  and 
become  a  post-office  or  drug-store.  But  as  Ranny's 
temperament  was  equipped  with  an  automatic 
stabilizer,  he  soon  began  to  feel  a  normal  curiosity 
about  the  hideous  and  interesting  uproar  out  in  the 
alley.  What  he  saw,  through  a  loose  board  in  the 
fence,  convinced  him  that  Mother  was  right :  it  was 
best  to  stick  to  the  back  yard. 

Tom  Rucker,  smacking  his  lips  over  some  imagi 
nary  delicacy,  was  being  overwhelmed  by  superior 
force  (in  real  life,  "Fatty"  Hartman)  and  prodded 
off  to  justice  with  a  wagon  spoke.  Minor  offenders 
were  being  apprehended  all  up  and  down  the  alley. 
This  spasm  of  righteousness  only  ceased  at  "Colly" 
Collander's  disgusting  suggestion  that  all  parties  go 
down- town  and  look  at  the  jail! 

146 


DIVIDING    UP 


Considering  how  many  things  had  happened  since 
breakfast,  it  was  an  unbelievably  long  time  until 
noon,  but  Father  came  at  last  and  summoned  the 
culprit  to  the  dining-room  to  justice. 

"Randolph,"  he  asked,  in  his  Supreme  Court 
tones,  "is  it  true  that  you  stole  candy  from  Mrs. 
Leonard?" 

"I  t-took  the  candy,"  said  the  accused,  avoid 
ing  the  objectionable  verb,  "to  give  to  the  poor — 
an'  shif'less.  Mother  said  we  should  be  kind  to 
the  poor." 

' '  Mother  never  said  we  should  be  kind  to  the  poor 
with  other  people's  property." 

"I  asked  'er  to  give  me  the  candy  first,  but  she 
was  too  stingy." 

Father's  face  lightened  a  little.  "Mother,  did 
Mrs.  Leonard  tell  you  Ranny  asked  for  the  candy?" 

The  witness  replied  in  the  negative. 

"First  I  did."  Ranny  eagerly  followed  up  this 
advantage.  "I  told  'er  I  needed  it  for  the  poor.  I 
said  I'd  pay  'er  two  cents  for  mine." 

"Wait  here  a  minute."  Father  took  his  hat,  but 
not  his  overcoat,  and  went  out.  Not  knowing  what 
to  make  of  this  new  turn  of  affairs,  Ranny  looked  to 
Mother  for  enlightenment,  but  got  no  comfort  worth 
mentioning.  At  the  end  of  a  nervous  fifteen  minutes 
Father  returned,  bringing,  not  the  town  marshal, 
but  the  kindling-basket. 

147 


RANNY 

"Give  me  fifty  cents,  Ranny,"  he  said,  with 
startling  abruptness.  The  boy  searched  his  father's 
face  in  vain  for  a  smile. 

"I  'ain't  got  fifty  cents,"  he  said. 

"I  paid  Mrs.  Leonard  fifty  cents  for  the  candy 
you  gave  to  the  poor  and  I  want  my  money  back." 
This  time  Father  held  out  his  hand. 

Ranny  was  silent  at  the  thought  of  that  fabulous 
sum ;  he  realized  for  the  first  time  the  seriousness  of 
his  raid. 

"I'll — I'll  pay  over  my  dish-wipin'  money." 
Ranny  looked  to  Mother  for  confirmation.  "Ten 
cents  every  week." 

"It  will  take  you  five  weeks,"  Father  said. 
"You  see  it's  lots  harder  to  get  out  of  debt  than 
to  get  in." 

Ranny  was  glad  to  escape  at  any  price — but  not 
without  a  final  shot  at  the  enemy. 

"Mis'  Leonard's  awful  rich  an'  stingy!" 

Thereupon,  in  a  series  of  astonishing  disclosures, 
it  came  out  that  Mrs.  Leonard  was  not  a  plutocrat 
at  all,  but  a  poor,  hard-working  widow.  Even  her 
little  store  practically  belonged  to  somebody  else. 
It  was  like  this :  Mr.  Thompson,  who  lived  in  the  big 
house  with  the  steeple  and  the  fountain  in  the  yard, 
really  owned  Mrs.  Leonard's  store  because  she  owed 
him  money.  This  was  called  a  mortgage.  Mr. 
Thompson  also  had  a  mortgage  on  such  things  as  the 

148 


DIVIDING    UP 


lumber-yard,  and  "had  a  good  deal  to  say  in  the 
First  National  Bank" — a  talkative  person,  evidently, 
as  well  as  rich. 

"He  mus'  work  very  hard,"  said  Ranny,  remem 
bering  the  formula. 

In  the  silence  which  followed  Ranny  had  time  to 
get  acquainted  with  the  new  idea. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said  at  last.  "I'm  goin'  to  start 
a  candy-store  in  the  'secrut  den' — just  pertend,  you 
know." 

"Yes,"  said  Father. 

"An*  you  got  a — now — morketch,  because  I  owe 
you  fifty  cents." 

"Goodness,  Mother,  I'm  a  capitalist!"  To  Ranny 
Father  added:  "You  better  keep  a  close  watch  over 
the  stock.  There's  a  great  deal  of  crime  in  this 
neighborhood." 

"I'll  keep  'em  out,"  said  Ranny.  "I  can't  afford 
no  losses." 

"But  the  poor,"  Mother  asked;  "what  about 
them?" 

' '  If  they'd  be  honest  and  work  hard  and  save  their 
money,"  Ranny  said,  looking  down  tolerantly  upon 
feminine  ignorance  of  finance,  "they  wouldn't  be  so 
poor.  They'd  be  rich  like  Father." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  got  beyond  Ranny's 
depth. 

"I  suppose  this  lesson  had  to  be  learned,"  said 
149 


RANNY 

Mother,  thoughtfully,  "but  it  does  seem  a  shame  to 
destroy  a  generous  illusion  like  that." 

"I  know,"  said  Father.  "Suppose  you  talk  to 
him  some  time  about  the  poor  and  such  matters.  I 
seem  to  be  better  at  making  wagons." 


VIII 

ENEMY   WANTED 

RANNY  struggled  desperately,  emitted  unsuc 
cessful  noises,  then  by  a  process  of  twist  and 
upheaval  fought  his  way  back  to  winter  daylight. 
There  was  snow  in  the  torn  lining  of  his  cap,  up  both 
sleeves,  in  the  wristbands  of  both  mittens,  in  the 
tops  of  both  shoes — but  in  only  one  ear.  Through 
the  other  he  heard  the  derisive  shouts  of  ruffians 
proceeding  on  their  devastating  way.  The  snow 
was  of  the  clammy,  transitory  sort,  and  had  already 
started  a  little  river  down  his  neck;  his  arithmetic, 
when  found,  was  soggy;  his  ears  were  hot  and  his 
hands  cold;  and,  worst  of  all,  three  girls  gave  him 
their  giggling  sympathy.  Yet  the  look  that  Ranny 
threw  after  the  sliding,  pushing,  snowballing  scala 
wags  was  only  one  part  anger  to  three  parts  longing. 

All  the  blowy,  January  way  from  the  church 
corner  home  Ranny  ruminated  upon  the  phenomenon 
of  friendship.  There  might  have  been  one,  he 
thought,  in  all  that  barbarian  crew  to  stand  up  for 
him  and  say:  "Aw,  let  'im  alone.  Wha's  the  matter 

n  151 


RANNY 

with  ya?"  and  afterward  go  sliding  with  him  on  the 
hill  back  of  Miller's  barn  or  make  a  snow-man  with 
a,  broad  grin  and  a  smoke-pipe.  There  might  have 
been  such  a  person,  but  there  was  not — and  there 
never  had  been.  For  though  Ranny  looked  upon 
life  with  the  experienced  eyes  of  eight-going-on-nine, 
though  he  had  once  had  his  name  in  the  paper  and 
once  narrowly  escaped  going  to  jail,  though  he  had 
a  velocipede,  a  drug-store  (in  season),  and  five 
guinea-pigs — not  to  mention  a  baby  sister — and 
though  he  was  usually  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the 
juvenile  world,  he  had  never  had  a  chum.  So  far 
as  he  knew  he  had  no  enemy,  and  yet,  somehow, 
he  had  no  friend. 

People  of  far  fewer  attainments  often  had  friends. 
Ted  Blake,  who  lived  in  "Frogtown"  and  whose 
father  was  held  by  adults  to  be  something  of  a 
public  misfortune,  was  not  without  a  crony.  "Sau 
sage"  Buckley  and  Ted  were  constantly  together; 
they  would  fight  for  each  other  at  any  time — except, 
of  course,  when  they  were  fighting  with  each  other. 
Even  Ranny's  downfall  had  been  due  to  an  offensive 
alliance  between  "Fatty"  Hartman  and  Bud  Hicks. 
The  three  of  them  had  been  trudging  along  by  the 
brick  church,  Ranny  in  the  middle,  boasting  peace 
fully  and  thinking  of  nothing  in  particular,  when 
suddenly  Bud  had  stooped  over  as  if  to  tie  his  shoe; 
"Fatty"  had  given  an  unexpected  shove,  and  Ranny 

152 


ENEMY    WANTED 


had  toppled  over  the  crouching  Bud  into  the  soggy 
snowbank. 

When  he  reached  home  he  smuggled  the  water 
logged  arithmetic  into  the  sitting-room  and  put  it 
behind  the  coal-stove  to  dry.  Presently  he  went 
out  and  threw  snowballs  at  a  knot-hole  in  the  wood 
shed — a  sorry  sport,  owing  to  the  lack  of  some  one 
who  could  throw  almost  as  well,  but  not  quite. 

The  vague  longing  retired  into  the  back  yard  of 
Ranny's  consciousness,  but  in  the  evening  it  came 
forth  with  startling  abruptness.  It  was  at  that 
pleasantly  precarious  hour  when  the  sands  of  wake- 
fulness  were  running  low.  At  any  moment  Father 
might  look  up  from  his  paper  and  say : 

"Mother,  isn't  it  about  time  that  a  mutual  young 
acquaintance  of  ours  was  going  to  bed?"  And,  no 
matter  how  absurdly  early  it  was,  Mother  would 
agree.  These  people  stood  up  for  each  other  almost 
as  if  they  were  friends. 

Ranny  had  finished  his  number-work — for  better 
or  for  worse — but  had  hesitated  to  close  the  book 
for  fear  of  disturbing  the  peaceful  scene.  But 
Mother  had  no  such  qualms;  glancing  up  from  her 
sewing,  she  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"Why,  Ranny  dear,  what's  the  matter  with  your 
book — it's  all  stained  and  wrinkled?" 

"That's  nothin'.  It  fell  in  the  snow  a  little." 
With  one  of  those  quick  conversational  turns  that 


RANNY 

are  sometimes  so  helpful  in  emergencies,  Ranny 
added,  "Mother,  I  wisht  I  had  a  friend." 

"Why,  you  have  lots  of  friends,  dear.  What  do 
you  mean?" 

"I  mean  chums  like  Ted  an'  'Sausage'  and — pert' 
near  ever'body." 

"What  a  horrid  nickname  for  a  boy." 

Ranny  saw  that  he  would  have  to  put  the  case  in 
language  which  a  mother  could  understand. 

"A  friend,"  he  said,  "tells  you  secruts  an'  comes 
home  from  school  with  you  and  calls  you  by  your 
last  name  and  you  have  fun  ever'  Saturday  and— 
ever'thing."  It  seemed  wisest  not  to  introduce 
pugilism  into  the  discussion. 

"Why  don't  you  make  a  friend  of  somebody  at 
school,"  asked  Father,  "like  Bud  Hicks  or  that 
Hartman  boy  you  call  'Fatty'?" 

As  though  she  rated  Father's  taste  in  companions 
rather  low,  Mother  gave  the  conversation  another 
twist. 

"Father,  I  think  it's  time  Ranny  started  to  Sun 
day-school.  He  would  be  sure  to  find  a  nice  play 
mate  there." 

It  was  Mother-like  to  take  advantage  of  a  situa 
tion  that  way.  For  a  long  time  Ranny  had  hung 
suspended  between  opposing  views  on  the  subject 
of  Sunday-school.  Mother  had  been  distinctly, 
though  not  insistently,  favorable,  but  Father  had  a 

?54 


ENEMY    WANTED 


theory  that  it  was  not  wise  to  take  religious  instruc 
tion  "on  an  empty  mind." 

"Wait  until  he's  a  little  older,"  Father  had  always 
said ;  "it  will  do  him  more  good. ' ' 

To-night,  however,  after  a  brief  discussion,  Father 
gave  in,  and  it  was  agreed  that  Ranny  was  to  set 
sail  for  the  higher  life  on  the  following  Sunday — by 
an  odd  coincidence  in  the  very  church  into  whose 
snowbank  he  had  plunged  that  afternoon;  and 
Ranny's  wishes  had  not  been  consulted  in  this  case 
any  more  than  in  the  other.  There  might  have 
been  further  sociability  but  for  the  bad  taste  of 
the  sitting-room  clock,  which  called  attention  to 
itself  by  striking  nine. 

In  the  secular  days  that  intervened  there  were  no 
further  outrages  (except  'amusing  ones  involving 
other  victims),  but  still  Ranny,  though  exposing  him 
self  constantly,  had  contracted  no  friendships.  By 
Sunday  morning  he  had  begun  to  share  Mother's 
hope  that  something  of  the  sort  might  grow  out  of 
Sunday-school. 

It  devolved  upon  Mother  to  conduct  her  son  to  his 
session  because,  as  the  less  reverend  parent  observed, 
she  knew  the  ropes  better  than  he  did;  and  since  it 
was  important  that  he  be  prompt  on  the  first  day, 
it  still  lacked  ten  minutes  of  half  past  nine  when 
Ranny,  elegantly  dressed  and  hopeful  and  only  a 
little  scared,  was  delivered  over  to  a  tall,  whiskered 


RANNY 

man  who  for  a  moment  ceased  to  look  austere  and 
asked,  "How  old  are  you,  my  little  man?"  Ranny 
replied,  "Eight-going-on-nine,"  and  was  told  to  go 
and  sit  with  the  three  other  boys  over  by  that 
colored  window. 

These  youth,  he  found  upon  inspection,  were 
packed  into  a  giggling  mass  at  one  end  of  the  pew 
on  the  theory,  advanced  by  Tom  Rucker,  that  the 
teacher  was  so  fat  she  needed  all  the  rest  of  the 
seat.  Though  skeptical  upon  this  point,  Ranny  was 
delighted  with  the  informal  character  of  the  pro 
ceedings  and  promptly  converted  himself  into  a 
hilarious  sardine. 

Also  it  was  good  to  see  Tom  Rucker  there.  Tom 
was  the  only  one  of  the  class,  eventually  numbering 
eight,  who  was  in  Ranny 's  room  at  the  center  build 
ing;  as  such  Tom  formed  a  connecting-link  between 
secular  and  religious  instruction.  He  was  about 
Ranny's  height,  but  somewhat  slighter  in  build;  he 
wore  freckles  the  year  round.  At  school  he  was  dis 
tinguished  for  his  ability  to  move  his  ears  by  some 
mysterious  internal  power.  Also  he  was  the  in 
ventor  and  sole  proprietor  of  the  diversion  of  wedging 
his  knees  under  his  desk  in  such  a  way  that  by 
vibrating  upon  his  toes  he  could  produce  a  small 
earthquake  that  was  distracting  to  young  and  old. 
He  was  a  fellow  of  infinite  jest  and  low  marks  in  de 
portment.  In  short,  Tom  was  the  kind  of  boy  one 

156 


ENEMY    WANTED 


exchanged  snickers  with  whenever  the  teacher  said 
a  funny  big  word  like  "conglomerate." 

Miss  Binford  came,  practically  on  time,  and 
proved  to  be  young  and  pretty,  but  far  short  of  the 
advance  notices  as  to  fatness.  Ranny  was  favorably 
impressed  not  only  by  her  gracious  welcome  to  the 
new  pupil,  but  also  by  the  edible-looking,  unseason 
able  gooseberries  on  her  hat. 

The  lesson  that  day  concerned  the  forgiveness  of 
enemies.  "Love  your  enemies,"  the  Golden  Text 
admonished.  "Do  good  to  them  which  hate  you." 
Miss  Binford  was  eloquent  and  helpful  on  the  subject 
and  the  gooseberries  swayed  violently  with  her 
earnest  nods.  It  was  not  enough,  she  pointed  out, 
to  love  those  who  love  us;  sinners  do  that  sort  of 
thing  constantly.  If  some  one  smites  us  on  one 
cheek  we  should  turn  the  other  (Miss  Binford  illus 
trated  this  graphically  with  her  own  cheeks  and 
Ranny  wondered  whether  any  one  had  been  smiting 
them  lately).  "We  cannot  expect  to  have  our  own 
sins  forgiven,"  she  concluded,  "unless  we  forgive  our 
enemies." 

Ranny  was  impressed  and  vaguely  troubled. 
Thinking  about  it  afterward,  he  wished  the  teacher 
might  have  been  a  little  more  explicit  on  certain 
points;  he  had  not  liked  to  ask  questions  before  all 
these  advanced  students  of  theology.  If  it  was  so 
important  to  forgive  one's  enemies,  what  would  a 


RANNY 

person  do  who  had  no  enemies  to  forgive  ?  How  did 
the  likable  Miss  Binford,  for  example,  keep  up  her 
supply  of  foes?  As  he  considered  these  matters  in 
that  quiescent  hour  which  followed  the  mid-afternoon 
Sunday  dinner,  Ranny  reached  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  much  more  important  that  he  have  an  enemy 
than  that  he  have  a  friend.  Sinners  went  in  for 
friendships,  Miss  Binford  had  said  (and  Ranny  knew 
cases  in  point) ;  conversely,  having  a  friend  must  be 
dangerously  near  sinful. 

With  characteristic  singleness  of  purpose  he  tried 
the  new  conception  upon  various  schoolmates  during 
the  early  days  of  the  week ;  these  boys  did  not  know 
it,  but  they  were  being  sized  up  for  the  position  of 
private  enemy  to  Randolph  Harrington  Dukes. 
"Fatty"  Hartman  was  discreetly  rejected  because 
he  was  too  big;  Bud  Hicks,  because  in  times  of 
hostility  he  would  be  too  hard  to  forgive.  Their 
shortcomings  were  in  a  sense  unfortunate,  because 
Mother,  who  had  vetoed  these  boys  as  friends,  would 
no  doubt  have  welcomed  either  of  them  as  an 
enemy.  If  Ranny  had  been  able  to  frame  his  desire 
into  a  want  advertisement,  as  one  seeking  a  family 
horse,  it  would  have  read  something  like  this: 

ENEMY  WANTED 
Small  and  gentle  and  fond  of  children. 

R.  H.  DUKES. 
158 


ENEMY    WANTED 


On  Thursday  came  the  realization  that,  with  the 
week  slipping  fatally  toward  another  Sabbath,  he 
was  still  on  terms  of  sinful  amity  with  the  world. 
In  a  spirit  of  desperation,  and  not  without  regrets, 
Ranny  finally  settled  upon  Tom  Rucker  to  fill  the 
position.  Tom's  qualifications  were  numerous.  Nei 
ther  too  muscular  nor  too  aggressive  for  comfort 
and  of  a  likable  and  genial  disposition  withal,  Tom 
would  make  an  ideal  temporary  enemy  with  little 
danger  of  becoming  permanent.  Tom  had  no  ally 
sworn  to  ready  violence.  Moreover,  being  a  Sunday- 
school  pupil  of  the  brick-church  faith,  Tom  would 
understand  the  rules  governing  forgiveness — in  fact, 
Tom  had  seemed  so  familiar  with  the  doctrine,  that 
while  Miss  Binford  was  expounding  it  he  had  not 
found  it  necessary  to  listen,  but  had  secretly  pointed 
out  how  funny  the  superintendent's  whiskers  looked 
in  the  shaft  of  yellow  light  from  the  colored  window. 

Ranny  searched  his  memory  for  some  grievance 
against  Tom,  but  without  reward.  Their  political 
differences  had  been  adjusted.  Tom  had  not  par 
ticipated  in  the  late  unpleasantness  at  the  church 
snowbank,  having,  in  fact,  been  kept  in  that  afternoon 
for  slipping  off  his  rubber  boots  (as  if  it  were  Tom's 
fault  that  one  of  the  boots  had  been  passed  back 
the  aisle  by  willing  hands,  and  that  he  had  been 
asked  to  go  to  the  blackboard  while  his  footwear 
was  off  on  a  trip).  True,  Tom  had  poured  water 

159 


RANNY 

down  Ranny's  neck  during  the  series  of  persecutions 
attending  the  letter- writing  episode,  but,  try  as  he 
would,  Ranny  could  not  get  angry  over  this  ancient 
injury.  On  the  whole,  it  seemed  best  to  start  a  new 
grievance. 

Accordingly,  at  half  past  three  on  Thursday  after 
noon,  in  fulfilment  of  his  preliminary  Christian  duty, 
Ranny  solemnly  punched  Tom  Rucker  in  the  region 
of  the  floating  ribs.  He  pointed  out  that  Tom  was  a 
hopeless  victim  of  freckles  and  that  he  had  ears 
something  like  a  donkey's. 

Tom,  cut  down  in  the  middle  of  a  waggish  remark, 
was  taken  completely  by  surprise. 

"Aw,  wha' — wha' — wha's  the  matter  with  ya?" 
he  asked,  backing  against  Curtiss's  picket  fence. 

This  offensive  question  admitted  of  but  one 
answer,  and  the  militant  brick-churchman  landed  a 
blow  immediately  below  Tom's  right  ear. 

Here  Tom  did  a  surprising  thing ;  he  neither  struck 
back  according  to  the  best  secular  usage  nor  turned 
the  other  cheek  in  obedience  to  the  Scriptures.  He 
ran  away.  Once  he  stopped  and  picked  up  a  piece 
of  frozen  snow,  looked  at  it  thoughtfully,  and 
dropped  it  again.  Presently  he  disappeared  from 
view — a  full-fledged  enemy ! 

Public  opinion  was  openly  favorable;  Ranny  felt 
that  his  position  in  society  was  notably  improved. 

"What  'd  he  do  to  ya?"  Bud  Hicks  asked. 
160 


ENEMY    WANTED 


Fearing  that  his  true  motive  would  be  hard  to 
explain  to  the  Philistines,  Ranny  answered,  evasively, 
"He  better  not  get  smart  with  me!" 

All  present  then  declared  simultaneously  that 
Tom  had  better  not  get  smart  with  them.  Instead 
of  turning  homeward  at  the  church  corner  Ranny 
drifted  with  the  crowd  to  Cook's  hardware-store, 
where  all  parties  "skinned  the  cat"  upon  the  hitch- 
ing-rail  until  Mr.  Cook  personally  requested  them  to 
stop — not  only  in  words,  but  also  by  flourishing  a 
snowr-shovel.  As  the  afternoon  ebbed  Ranny  grad 
ually  went  home. 

Mother,  little  knowing  what  a  desperate  char 
acter  her  son  had  become  since  their  last  meeting, 
intrusted  to  him  the  care  of  the  baby.  In  the 
secrecy  of  the  bedroom  he  took  his  youthful  sister 
into  his  confidence,  glad  to  put  the  case  in  audible 
words. 

"I  got  a  enemy.  I  will  furgive  'im  to-morra. 
I  couldn't  furgive  'im  to-day  because  he  ran  off." 

The  baby  seemed  duly  impressed,  and  said, 
"Blah!" 

"But  he  better  not  git  smart  aroun'  me!"  Ranny 
added. 

The  next  day  hostile  sentiments  were  carried  back 
and  forth  by  volunteer  trouble-makers,  but  by  the 
time  school  was  out  Ranny,  who  was  tired  of  having 
an  enemy,  approached  Tom  with  an  olive  branch. 

161 


RANNY 

"Come  'ere,  Tom,"  he  said. 

"Well,  whatcha  want?"  the  enemy  asked,  refusing 
to  leave  his  companions. 

Ranny  would  have  preferred  privacy,  but  had  to 
make  the  best  of  the  faulty  situation. 

"  T's  all  right,"  he  said.     "I  furgive  you." 

"What  are  ya  talkin'  about?"  Tom  asked. 

The  others,  thinking  Ranny  had  invented  some 
new  form  of  insult,  closed  in  with  high  hopes. 

It  seemed  to  Ranny  that  his  opponent  showed 
surprising  obtuseness  for  a  veteran  Sunday-school 
student,  but  since  he  could  not  say  offhand  just 
what  he  was  forgiving  Tom  for,  he  had  to  temporize. 

"You  know — like  they  tell  you  in  Sunday-school." 

At  this  there  was  a  wild  outburst  of  heathenish 
glee  and  Ranny  was  handled  roughly  by  one  and  all. 
"Fatty"  scored  a  popular  success  by  touching 
Ranny's  head  and  making  motions  as  of  rapidly 
revolving  wheels.  There  was  a  movement  on  foot 
to  wash  Ranny's  face,  but  the  victim  broke  away 
amid  a  shower  of  snowballs. 

Moist  and  disheartened,  shorn  of  his  new  prestige 
and  dubious  about  the  future,  Ranny  went  home. 
And  though  Saturday  was  a  time  of  mild  sunshine  and 
adhesive  snow  with  the  streets  full  of  farmers'  bob 
sleds,  Ranny  kept  much  to  the  back  yard,  safe  from 
persecution.  The  long,  lonely  day  drew  to  a  close 
and  he  faced  another  Sunday-school  with  an  unfor- 

162 


ENEMY    WANTED 


given  enemy  who  would  be  there  in  person.  Yet 
what  could  you  do  when  your  enemy  declined  to  be 
forgiven  and  went  in  for  popular  ridicule? 

The  lesson  at  Ranny's  second  Sunday-school  was 
about  another  matter  (apparently  of  special  interest 
to  gardeners),  but  first  there  was  a  moment  of  review. 

"Who  can  tell,"  Miss  Binford  asked,  "what  the 
lesson  was  last  Sunday?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  profound  silence,  during 
which  one  could  hear  what  the  superintendent  was 
saying  to  the  Bible  class. 

"Andrew,  can't  you  tell  us?" 

The  youth  with  red  bow  necktie,  finding  himself 
cornered,  tried  to  escape  with  David,  the  giant- 
killer,  but  was  repulsed  with  heavy  loss. 

Finally  Ranny  raised  a  timid  hand. 

"What  was  it,  Randolph?"  the  teacher  asked. 

"You  should  furgive  your  enemies." 

"That's  right,  Randolph!"  The  gooseberry  sea 
son  was  over  now  on  Miss  Binford's  hat  and  green 
roses  waved  their  delight  at  Ranny's  virtues.  "The 
new  scholar  was  the  one  who  remembered.  Now 
to-day  let's  all  pay  close  attention  and  be  good 
little  boys  like  Randolph." 

The  bright  new  scholar  flushed  under  the  unwel 
come  tribute,  his  guilty  secret  burning  in  his  throat 
like  a  live  coal.  Out  of  a  corner  of  his  eye  he  saw  a 
baleful  wrinkle  on  Tom's  freckled  nose  and  noted  the 

163 


RANNY 

derisive  movement  of  the  accomplished  ears.  As 
far  as  Ranny  was  concerned  Miss  Binford's  exposition 
of  the  Parable  of  the  Sowers  fell  upon  stony  ground ; 
he  was  glad  when  the  unprofitable  session  was  at  an 
end. 

With  the  fading  daylight  his  gloom  deepened.  In 
his  brief  career  as  a  sinner  he  had  already  discovered 
that  conscience  hurts  more  at  twilight  than  in  the 
morning.  Although  Miss  Binford  had  not  said  any 
thing  specific  on  the  subject,  he  knew  very  well 
what  happened  to  persons  who  were  wicked.  Ted 
Blake  had  only  recently  explained  the  matter  in 
vivid  detail,  and  Ted  was  an  authority  on  wicked 
ness,  both  by  inheritance  and  in  his  own  right.  As 
Ranny  stood  at  the  sitting-room  window  and  looked 
out  upon  the  purpling  snow,  his  spirits  sank  lower 
and  lower  and  the  lump  in  his  throat  swelled  and 
rose  like  a  great  hot  balloon. 

"What's  the  matter,  dear?"  Mother  asked,  laying 
a  cool  hand  upon  his  forehead.  "Ar'n't  you  feeling 
well?" 

Although  he  would  have  defended  his  shameful 
secret  against  harshness,  or  even  ridicule,  sympathy 
was  more  than  his  over-brimming  heart  could  bear; 
so,  in  the  presence  of  his  parents  and  the  astonished 
baby,  he  broke  down.  The  baby  started  a  sympa 
thetic  wail  and  was  only  comforted  after  a  series  of 
unhygienic  "oops"  conducted  by  Father. 

164 


ENEMY    WANTED 


Ranny  told  his  story  between  contractions  of  the 
diaphragm : 

"The  Sunday-school  teacher  said  for  us  to  furgive 
our  enemies — I  hadn't  no  enemy,  so  I  picked  on  Tom 
Rucker — he  gets  mad  an'  runs  away  an'  ever'thing — 
he  won't  let  me  furgive  'im — I  hate  'im — I  can't 
go  to  heaven."  Irrelevantly  he  added,  "Neither  c'n 
Ted  Blake." 

There  was  silence  while  the  parents  exchanged  per 
plexed  glances. 

"You'd  better  straighten  out  his  theology,"  said 
Father.  "I'm  better  at  wagon-making. ' ' 

"He  ought  to  have  begun  with  the  Old  Testa 
ment,"  said  Mother,  thoughtfully.  "Children  un 
derstand  that  better.  It's  all  right,  dear.  You're 
not  a  bad  boy.  Now  tell  me  just  what  you  said 
after  you  struck  Tom." 

"The  nex'  day  I  said,  'I  furgive  you.' ' 

Here  Father  snorted  and  had  to  be  suppressed. 

"Don't  worry  about  it  any  more,  dear,"  Mother 
said.  "To-morrow  you  must  go  to  Tom  Rucker 
and  say  you  are  sorry.  It's  he  that  must  do  the 
forgiving  this  time." 

"Stick  to  him  till  he  does,"  Father  added. 

Surprising  information  was  forthcoming ;  it  seemed 
that  it  was  not  really  necessary  to  have  an  enemy. 
Many  good  people  never  had  them  at  all.  The  im 
portant  thing  was  not  to  hate  anybody. 

165 


RANNY 

"Tom  must  be  a  very  bad  boy,"  said  Father, 
dolefully. 

"He  ain't,  either,"  was  Ranny's  indignant  reply. 
"He  don't  say  bad  words  or  steal  or  throw  rocks — 
hardly  ever." 

"I'm  glad  of  that." 

To  Mother  he  added  some  mysterious  remarks 
about  reaction  from  hostility. 

The  next  afternoon,  in  accordance  with  a  matured 
plan,  Ranny  left  the  other  boys  at  the  gate  of  the 
school-house  and  hurried  away  as  one  who  had  an 
important  engagement  with  his  sled.  A  detour  of 
the  back  streets  brought  him  to  Cedar  Avenue, 
where  Tom  should  soon  be  making  his  way  home 
ward.  In  order  not  to  reveal  himself  prematurely 
Ranny  hid  behind  a  large  tree;  a  small  dog  came 
floundering  through  the  snow  and  threatened  to  dis 
lodge  him,  but  proved  to  be  curious  rather  than 
hungry.  Ranny  kicked  the  tree  nervously  for  a 
long  time,  but  at  last  the  enemy  hove  into  sight,  un 
supported  and  unattended,  alternately  taking  two  or 
three  running  steps  and  sliding.  Ranny  stepped  out 
and  confronted  him. 

"Hello,  Tom!"  he  said,  with  what  was  intended 
for  a  cordial  smile. 

"Aw,  let  me  alone,"  said  Tom,  making  a  circle 
toward  the  street. 

With  a  desperate  feeling  that  his  chance  was  slip- 

166 


ENEMY   WANTED 


ping  away  again,  Ranny  forgot  the  formula  that 
Mother  had  prescribed. 

' '  Doggone  you !  If  you  don't  let  me  furgive  you, 
I'll  punch  you  one!" 

Punching  took  place  forthwith — but  not  in  ac 
cordance  with  the  threat.  Tom's  fist  flew  out  de 
fensively  and  grazed  his  tormentor's  cheek;  its 
partner  landed  a  jolting  blow  under  Ranny's  eye. 
The  two  boys  clinched,  struggled  for  leg-holds,  and 
fell  into  the  deep  snow,  Tom  unmistakably  on  top. 
Somehow  they  had  fallen  upside  down  to  each  other 
and  Tom's  boots  were  waving  perilously  over  Ranny's 
face.  At  this  point  Ranny  gave  up  trying  to  re 
member  the  rules  of  Christian  conduct;  he  only 
knew  that  he  had  no  desire  to  continue  this  un 
profitable  warfare.  So  he  addressed  Tom's  feet  as 
follows : 

"Rucker,  I  bet  I  c'n  sling  a  snowball  straighter  'n 
you." 

"Aw,  you  can't,  either,"  replied  Tom,  mag 
nanimously.  Thus  a  friendship  was  born. 

They  gave  each  other  a  sketchy  brushing  off,  then 
threw  snowballs  until  they  almost  hit  a  window  and 
deemed  it  best  to  go  elsewhere.  For  a  time  they 
slid  at  a  fine  place  by  a  leaky  hydrant.  Tom 
amazingly  produced  two  cents,  which  they  ran 
through  in  no  time  at  Mrs.  Leonard's  candy-store. 
After  refreshment  they  jumped  on  a  bobsled  and 
12  167 


RANNY 

rode  clear  to  the  third-ward  school-house.  On  the 
way  back  they  made  a  big  snowball  and  rolled  it 
down  the  hill  back  of  the  old  tannery.  They  trod  a 
wheel-shaped  design  in  the  snow  and  quarreled 
amicably  about  who  should  be  the  fox  and  who  the 
goose.  Also  they  scared  a  most  laughable  cat. 

For  the  remaining  days  of  their  hitherto  wasted 
lives  they  planned  a  series  of  lavish  entertainments 
which  included  crawling  through  a  hay  tunnel,  sell 
ing  drugs  in  Ranny's  "secret  den"  (only  not  now, 
because  everything  was  "froze  up  and  busted"), 
building  a  snow  house  behind  Tom's  barn,  skating 
on  the  "Frogtown"  pond,  coasting  down  choice 
exclusive  hills,  making  life  difficult  for  "old  Millsy" 
in  school  and  well-nigh  impossible  for  "Fatty" 
Hartman.  Vague  promises  were  exchanged  in 
volving  spring  and  summer  diversions.  They 
Dukesed  and  Ruckered  each  other  ostentatiously; 
they  devised  a  private  "holler"  for  summoning  each 
other  out  of  homes. 

There  were  informal  discussions  of  the  prodigious 
quantity  of  confectionery  they  would  consume  if 
they  were  millionaires,  the  uselessness  of  girls  in 
practical  affairs,  how  ridiculous  Chinamen  were, 
moving  pictures,  collections  of  burned-out  electric- 
light  carbons,  three  sure  cures  for  warts,  and  the 
importance  of  having  a  dog.  They  proved  to  have 
common  tastes  in  jokes  and  a  common  distrust  of 

168 


Indians.  In  fact,  save  for  a  studied  silence  upon 
religious  matters,  they  had  run  the  whole  gamut  of 
human  interests  and  emotions  when,  finally,  in  the 
fast-failing  twilight,  they  arrived  at  Ranny's  gate. 

"Goo'-by,  Rucker,"  said  Ranny.  "Don't  furgit 
the  holler." 

"No,  I  won't.     Listen  f'r  it  in  the  mornin'." 

"All  right.     Goo'-by." 

"Goo'-by,  Dukes.  Don't  tell  'Fatty'  what  I 
said." 

"No,  I  won't.     Goo'-by." 

"Goo'-by." 

Waiting  for  a  moment  until  Tom's  form  had 
faded  into  the  dusk,  Ranny  hurried  in  to  enlighten 
his  family  as  to  the  startling  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  Lakeville  society.  As  he  entered  the  side 
door  Mother  gave  him  an  anxious,  penetrating  glance. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Ranny!"  she  cried,  as  she 
pulled  him  into  the  lamplight,  "where  have  you  been 
— and  what  have  you  been  doing  to  your  clothes — 
and  what  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  your  face?" 

Ranny  was  surprised  to  find  that  the  area  below 
one  eye  was  tender  to  Mother's  touch. 

"I  had  a  fight  with  Rucker,"  he  said,  with  a  glow 
ing,  discolored  smile.  ' '  He's  my  friend !" 


IX 

MALADY   AFORETHOUGHT 

RANNY  was  a  cog  in  a  perfect  machine. 
"The  Dukes  family  is  like  a  clock,"  old 
Mr.  Jennings  had  said  to  Ranny  and  his  parents  as 
he  stopped  for  a  chat  one  evening  on  the  front 
porch.  (Mr.  Jennings  lived  across  the  street  and 
did  not  work  much  any  more,  except  at  sprinkling 
the  lawn  and  taking  care  of  a  safe  sorrel  horse 
named  Nellie.)  "Mrs.  Jennings  puts  on  the  tea 
kettle  by  you.  Tom  Dukes  is  the  big  hand  and 
Ranny  is  the  little  hand,  and  a  body  could  set  his 
watch  by  you  as  you  go  to  work  and  school.  Now 
and  then,"  he  had  added  to  Mother,  "we  catch  a 
glimpse  of  you  and  we  know  you  are  the  pendulum 
that  keeps  it  all  going  steadily." 

At  this  moment  the  baby  had  broken  into  violent 
protest  somewhere  within  the  house. 

"We're  an  alarm-clock,"  Father  had  said,  and 
everybody  had  laughed  except  the  pendulum,  which 
swung  toward  the  bedroom. 

But  that  conversation  was  six  months  deep  in 

170 


MALADY   AFORETHOUGHT 

oblivion,  and  now,  in  February,  Ranny  trudged  to 
school  and  back,  twice  daily,  unconscious  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  one  of  the  eternal  verities.  Miss  Edith 
Mills,  who  was  enjoying  his  society  for  the  second 
year  because  she  had  two  classes  in  one  room,  ap 
proved  of  his  record  just  as  she  indorsed  the  North 
Star  for  its  negative  virtue  of  constancy,  but  it  never 
occurred  to  her  to  mention  the  matter  publicly. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  the  case  of  Bud  Hicks,  Ran 
dolph  Harrington  Dukes  might  never  have  learned 
that  he  was  one  with  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tides 
and  the  procession  of  the  equinoxes. 

Miss  Mills  broke  the  news  to  the  class  one  fore 
noon  before  the  school  was  dismissed.  They  would 
all  be  sorry,  she  knew,  to  hear  of  the  serious  illness 
of  a  schoolmate;  Raymond  Hicks  had  taken  diph 
theria  and  was  very  ill.  He  would  probably  get  well, 
but  it  would  be  a  long,  long  time  before  he  could 
come  back  to  school.  They  should  all  be  sorry  for 
Raymond,  especially  since  his  little  friends  could  not 
go  to  see  him,  as  his  disease  was  catching.  And  no 
body  should  make  a  noise  near  Raymond's  home. 

Even  in  this  moment  of  sensation  Ranny  could 
not  help  noting  the  contrast  between  the  teacher's 
tone  to-day  and  that  of  last  week  when  Bud  had 
been  proven  guilty  of  putting  her  overshoes  in  the 
waste-basket.  Bud  had  somehow  acquired  dignity 
and  standing  along  with  diphtheria. 

171 


RANNY 

On  the  way  home  Ranny  was  reveling  in  the  fresh 
new  friendship  of  Tom  Rucker.  There  was  a  rare 
sedateness  in  the  home-going  group  that  cold,  snow- 
less  noontime;  not  only  had  Miss  Mills's  solemn  an 
nouncement  affected  the  spirit  of  the  boys,  but  Bud's 
illness  had  removed  one  of  the  school's  most  prom 
inent  ruffians. 

"Bud  could  sling  awful  straight,"  said  Tom,  in  the 
tone  of  one  suddenly  discovering  virtues  in  the 
departed.  This  tribute  had  the  desired  effect  upon 
Ranny. 

"I  'speck  he's  purty  sick,"  he  replied. 

"I  had  chicken-pox  one  time,"  said  Tom.  "I 
was  outa  school  two  weeks." 

"That's  nothin'.  I  had  scarlet  fever  'nd  had  to 
stay  home  the  rest  of  the  term — had  my  hair  shingled 
off  'nd  ever'thing."  This  boast,  alas!  was  not 
Ranny 's,  but  that  of  "Fatty"  Hartman. 

"Yes,  you  did,"  said  Ranny. 

"Betcha  a  million  dollars." 

This  modest  wager  was  promptly  accepted;  if  it 
had  involved  something  of  tangible  value  like  a 
squirt-gun  or  three  cents,  Ranny  would  have  con 
sidered  the  matter  seriously  before  betting  on 
"Fatty's"  health  history.  As  it  was,  the  argument 
attracted  other  historical  invalids,  among  them 
"Colly"  Collander,  who  claimed  to  have  been  out  of 
school  with  the  mumps;  and  "Tinny"  Maloney, 

172 


MALADY    AFORETHOUGHT 

who  had  enjoyed  a  broken  leg.  Clarence  Raleigh 
tried  to  break  into  this  distinguished  company  with 
a  sore  throat,  but  was  only  laughed  at  because  his 
alleged  illness  had  only  kept  him  home  two  days; 
that  was  practically  the  same  as  remaining  well. 

And  Ranny  ?  Poor  Ranny  tried  to  bluster  his  way 
through  by  doubting  everybody's  word,  but  as  the 
returns  kept  coming  in  he  was  gradually  reduced 
to  silence.  In  the  evening  after  school  he  accom 
panied  the  crowd  around  to  Bud's  street,  where  all 
enjoyed  a  clear  but  distant  view  of  the  diphtheria 
sign,  but  he  had  no  heart  for  the  entertainment  and 
went  home  feeling  like  one  of  the  submerged  tenth. 

For  as  far  back  as  written  history  went,  Ranny 
had  been  a  perfectly  healthy  boy.  There  was  a 
tradition  in  the  family  that  he  had  whooped  a  great 
deal  during  his  third  year;  and  he  himself  dimly 
remembered  an  unpleasant  period  in  his  still  tender 
youth  that  was  labeled  "measles."  These  ailments, 
however,  were  wasted  upon  the  prescholastic  period 
before  statistics  began.  Now  that  he  had  attained 
to  his  ninth  year  and  a  practical  working  knowledge 
of  long  division  (but  not  too  long)  there  was  nothing 
that  he  could  call  attention  to  with  any  degree  of 
pride.  And  here  was  Bud  Hicks,  a  person  who  was 
known  to  get  a  whipping  every  time  he  brought  his 
deportment-card  home,  suddenly  acquiring  prestige 
and  amnesty  through  an  easily  contracted  malady. 

173 


RANNY 

Bud  would  get  well,  of  course;  but  note  this — it 
would  be  a  long,  long  time  before  he  could  come  back 
to  school.  Upon  reflection,  Ranny  was  not  sure  that 
Miss  Mills  had  not  used  three  "longs." 

He  touched  upon  the  matter  as  he  was  drying  the 
supper  dishes — Father's  mortgage  had  now  been 
paid  off  and  Ranny  was  again  reaping  his  weekly 
reward  in  cash. 

"Mother,"  he  asked,  "how  does  boys  git  sick?" 

"Be  careful  with  that  glass! "  Presently  Mother 
went  on,  less  fluently,  but  more  to  the  point :  '  'Why — 
there  are  lots  of  things  that  cause  sickness.  You 
might  eat  green  apples,  or  get  your  feet  wet,  or 
break  an  arm,  or — "  Here  Mother  switched  to 
precept  by  example:  "Raymond  Hicks  caught  it; 
he  went  near  somebody  who  had  diphtheria.  You 
got  the  measles  that  way  when  you  were  little." 

Thrilling  a  little  at  the  free  use  of  the  intimate 
second  person,  Ranny  pursued  the  subject  further. 

"How  does  it  feel  to  be  sick?" 

"Thank  goodness  you  don't  know!"  Mother  re 
sponded,  fervently.  "You  have  pains  and  fevers 
and  you  have  to  stay  in  bed  all  day  and  keep  away 
from  school  and  eat  only  special  things." 

If  Mother  thought  she  was  painting  a  revolting 
picture  of  disease  and  pestilence,  she  greatly  over 
rated  her  powers.  As  he  lay  in  his  bed  that  night 
Ranny's  mind  played  hungrily  with  the  idea  of  not 


MALADY    AFORETHOUGHT 

having  to  get  up  in  the  morning,  of  staying  home 
from  school,  and  of  eating  exclusive  dishes.  He  con 
jured  up  thrilling  little  scenes;  the  teacher's  an 
nouncement;  Josie  Kendal  looking  with  awe  at  the 
vacant  seat  behind  hers  and  wishing  she  had  treated 
its  late  owner  with  more  respect;  boys  meeting 
with  one  another  and  saying,  "He's  purty  sick,"  and 
recounting  matters  of  interest  about  the  stricken 
one — his  guinea-pigs,  his  political  views,  his  efforts 
on  behalf  of  the  candyless  poor,  and  how  he  once 
almost  ran  away  from  home.  Tom  Rucker  would 
be  bowed  down  with  loneliness  and  would  renounce 
frivolous  pleasures  like  wiggling  his  ears.  Before  he 
slept  Ranny  resolved  that  a  way  must  be  found  of 
breaking  himself  of  this  monotonous  habit  of  health. 

His  first  attempt  was  impulsive  and  ill-advised; 
he  did  not  devote  to  it  that  care  and  thought  with 
which  one  should  approach  new  duties.  Mother 
had  been  tying  his  morning  necktie  and  had  given 
it  that  final  pat  which  was  a  token  of  dismissal. 

"I  don't  wanta  go  to  school  to-day,"  Ranny  found 
courage  to  say.  "I  don't  feel  so  very  well." 

Mother  looked  at  him  with  astonishment  not  un 
mixed  with  apprehension.  Ranny  had  never  before 
tried  to  evade  the  processes  of  education — and  of 
course  there  was  diphtheria  in  town.  She  laid  her 
hand  upon  his  forehead,  looked  at  his  tongue,  com 
mented  briefly  upon  the  normally  hearty  breakfast 


RANNY 

he  had  eaten,  and  finally  sent  him  off  into  the  cold 
world.  Since  he  did  not  see  the  anxious  eyes  at  the 
window  as  he  went  down  the  path,  Ranny  was  con 
vinced  that,  as  an  invalid,  he  was  a  total  failure. 

School  did  not  restore  his  spirits.  There  was 
some  disagreement  between  him  and  his  teacher 
in  the  matter  of  the  spelling  of  the  word  "thier," 
and  he  was  made  to  appear  in  the  wrong.  Later  he 
received  dishonorable  mention  when  he  had  done 
nothing  but  tell  a  little  joke  to  Josie  Kendal  (who 
was  amused  too  publicly).  And  then  there  was  the 
announcement  that  their  "dear  schoolmate"  seemed 
a  little  better  to-day. 

Ranny  saw  that  he  must  concoct  a  plan  that  would 
hold  water.  As  he  searched  the  back  yard  for  in 
spiration  in  the  late  afternoon  he  reviewed  Mother's 
unwitting  instructions  to  aspiring  invalids.  Getting 
his  feet  wet  did  not  seem  practical  this  cold,  dry 
winter  day;  green  apples  were  out  of  season  (be 
sides,  they,  didn't  hurt  you  if  you  ate  them  with 
salt).  The  back  yard  was  poorly  equipped  with 
places  to  fall  from  and  break  an  arm — there  was 
something  distasteful  in  that  idea,  anyway.  He 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  simplest  way  was  to 
catch  things.  He  would  read  the  evening  paper  for 
suggestions  and  pick  out  a  disease  to  his  taste — 
preferably  lingering,  but  neither  dangerous  nor 
painful. 

176 


MALADY    AFORETHOUGHT 

But  the  Bulletin  that  night  seemed  to  have  very 
little  to  offer.  Mr.  Thompson's  rheumatism,  so 
Father  said,  with  an  irreverent  chuckle — this  was 
in  the  sitting-room  after  supper — was  like  that  gen 
tleman's  money,  not  communicable. 

"Why,  son?  Were  you  thinking  of  catching  some 
rheumatism?" 

Ranny  always  enjoyed  Father's  good  spirits,  but 
he  did  not  feel  that  he  could  invite  his  parents' 
co-operation  in  the  present  enterprise,  because  of 
their  deep-seated  prejudices. 

If  the  situation  became  desperate  there  was  Bud's 
diphtheria  to  fall  back  upon ;  he  could  always  go  and 
catch  that.  This  thought  gave  him  a  comfortable 
feeling,  like  having  money  in  the  bank  for  a  rainy 
day. 

By  Friday  evening  it  seemed  that  the  "rainy  day" 
was  imminent.  Night  after  night  he  had  searched 
the  paper  in  vain  for  interesting  complaints.  There 
were  no  new  epidemics,  no  contagious  diseases,  only 
unhelpful  ailments.  Now  and  then  a  person  was 
confined  to  his  home  with  a  bad  cold,  a  woman  had 
survived  an  operation  for  appendicitis,  but  that  was 
about  all.  Even  Mr.  Thompson's  irrelevant  rheuma 
tism  was  now  out  of  print.  And  with  a  goading, 
insulting  persistency,  Webber,  the  reliable  druggist, 
kept  offering  to  cure  the  human  race  of  all  manner 
of  ills  with  fifty-cent  packages  and  one-dollar  bottles. 

177 


RANNY 

Day  after  day  had  come  the  bulletins  of  Bud's 
condition;  and  every  afternoon  youth  dug  into  the 
dusty  past  and  revealed  horrible  things.  Ranny 
could  see  that  he  was  suffering  in  public  esteem; 
Tom  Rucker,  himself,  had  begun  to  treat  him  like  a 
poor  relation.  The  friendship  of  Tom  and  Ranny 
had  passed  its  first  fervency  and  was  in  its  dangerous 
second  month.  If  he  did  not  act  quickly,  Bud  would 
get  well  and  Ranny  would  be  left  high  and  dry  on 
the  hopeless  shores  of  good  health.  Better  have 
diphtheria,  he  thought,  than  no  disease  at  all.  The 
next  day  would  be  Saturday  and  there  would  be 
plenty  of  time  to  catch  things:  by  school-time 
Monday  he  would  be  bedridden. 

Having  resolved  upon  his  course  of  action,  he 
spent  a  most  agreeable  evening;  he  was  especially 
careful  about  the  dishes  and  he  got  Father's  foot 
stool  without  being  asked  even  once.  When  he  was 
on  his  bed  of  pain  his  parents  would  have  nothing 
but  the  pleasantest  recollections  of  his  last  hours  of 
health.  On  the  other  hand,  it  seemed  foolish  to 
waste  any  time  over  the  arithmetic  lesson  assigned 
for  Monday. 

In  the  morning  Ranny,  having  disposed  of  an 
unusually  hearty  breakfast  (the  last  for  some  time 
of  the  commonplace  kind  of  food  that  parents  and 
healthy  people  ate),  quietly  removed  his  overcoat, 
cap,  and  mittens  to  the  "secret  den"  in  the  wood- 

178 


MALADY    AFORETHOUGHT 

shed  in  order  that  he  might  not  take  cold  while  on 
more  important  business.  When  Mother  was  not 
looking  he  departed  by  the  alley  gate,  not  neglecting 
to  take  a  last  comprehensive  look  at  the  treasures 
he  would  not  see  for  some  time.  Father,  he  hoped, 
would  take  good  care  of  the  guinea-pigs,  but  keep 
out  of  the  "secret  den"  and  not  mix  things  up. 

When  Ranny  reached  the  home  of  Bud  Hicks  he 
experienced  a  delicious  thrill  at  the  sight  of  the 
yellow  sign, "  Diphtheria  ";  the  last  time  he  had  seen 
it — not  then  being  bent  on  health  suicide — he  had 
run  past,  holding  his  breath.  Now  he  walked  boldly 
up  to  the  side  door  and  knocked  as  if  he  had  come  to 
borrow  a  cup  of  sugar  instead  of  a  germ. 

Ranny  had  a  fairly  definite  idea  of  asking  to  see 
the  invalid,  whom  he  would  remember  to  speak  of 
respectfully  as  "Raymond."  That  he  might  actu 
ally  be  refused  admittance  did  not  occur  to  him ;  he 
assumed  that  if  he  elected  to  contract  disease  it 
was  his  own  affair.  The  door  opened,  disclosing  a 
cautious  strip  of  Mrs.  Hicks's  face,  and  closed 
abruptly,  leaving  him  hale  and  hearty  in  the  open 
air.  A  moment  later  there  were  tappings  on  the 
side  window  and  motions  indicating  clearly  that  he 
was  to  go  away.  Instead  he  retreated  to  the  alley, 
where  he  collected  his  faculties  for  a  flank  movement 
toward  the  back  yard.  He  knew  which  was  Bud's 
window,  because  he  had  thrown  pebbles  at  it  on  the 

179 


RANNY 

morning  of  the  last  circus  day.  Fortunately  it  was 
partly  open.  With  the  aid  of  a  piece  of  stove-wood 
placed  against  the  house  he  raised  himself  to  the 
level  of  the  sill,  where  he  could  look  in  and  assure 
himself  of  a  working  supply  of  microbes. 

Sure  enough,  there  was  Bud  in  the  bed,  unat 
tended  and  apparently  asleep.  After  breathing  the 
unsalubrious  air  for  a  time,  Ranny  was  seized  with 
a  desire  for  sociability. 

"Hello,  Bud!"  he  called  out.  "How  you  feelin'?" 
The  invalid  opened  his  eyes,  saw  the  apparition 
at  the  window,  and  emitted  a  distressed  cry  for  his 
mother;  Bud  had  apparently  taken  his  position  as 
a  public  nuisance  very  seriously.  Ranny  caught  a 
glimpse  of  Mrs.  Hicks  charging  dangerously  in  his 
direction;  then,  as  he  shifted  his  balance,  the  wood 
went  out  from  under  his  feet  and  the  sick-room  dis 
appeared  from  view. 

At  night  Ranny  rolled  and  wallowed  in  his  bed, 
nervously  looking  forward  to  the  morrow.  The  bed 
was  unaccountably  lumpy,  his  elbow  was  bruised,  and 
the  white  curtains  waving  in  the  little  air-opening 
did  an  irritating  ghost-dance  until  it  seemed  wisest 
not  to  look  at  the  window  any  more.  Except,  of 
course,  on  Christmas  Eve,  Ranny  had  never  found  it 
so  hard  to  get  to  sleep — and  what  a  difference  be 
tween  to-morrow  and  Christmas! 

1 80 


MALADY   AFORETHOUGHT 

The  day's  events  passed  and  repassed  in  unending 
procession  like  an  army  of  ten  men  on  a  stage — the 
trip  to  Bud's  house,  the  stand  at  the  window,  the 
fall,  the  neighbor  woman  conducting  him  home  (less 
concerned  about  his  future  than  about  the  bread 
she  had  left  in  the  oven),  Mother's  frightened  sum 
mons  of  the  doctor,  the  smell  of  burning  sulphur,  the 
poking  of  foreign  substances  into  his  throat.  Then 
a  meager  collation  of  milk  and  toast,  an  afternoon  in 
bed,  with  a  growing  realization  that  good  sliding 
was  being  wasted  upon  unworthy  persons,  and  now 
this — a  bumpy  bed,  a  window-curtain  that  "acted 
up,"  and  parents  coming  in  occasionally  to  feel  his 
forehead.  Then  the  whole  thing  over  again.  As 
for  to-morrow,  Ranny  began  to  wonder  whether, 
considering  Mother's  anxiety  and  all,  it  wouldn't  be 
better  if  he  could  get  up  sound  and  well. 

The  rest  of  his  ruminating  Ranny  did  in  the  bright 
morning  light.  To  his  surprised  relief  he  had  no 
unusual  sensations.  If  he  were  any  judge  of  things, 
he  could  easily  jump  up,  slip  in  by  the  coal-stove 
and  dress.  Just  as  he  was  gathering  courage  to 
leave  the  warm  bed  his  parents  began  to  take  a  hand 
in  his  affairs.  They  felt  him  over,  as  parents  will, 
with  chilly  hands,  made  him  show  his  tongue,  and 
asked  him  whether  it  hurt  him  to  swallow.  Pres 
ently,  although  all  signs  showed  him  to  be  as  robust 
as  "Fatty"  Hartman,  they  ordered  him  to  lie  still 

181 


RANNY 

until  it  was  time  for  milk  and  toast.  This  pro 
gram  was  adhered  to  in  spite  of  his  assertion  that 
he  had  all  the  sleep,  milk,  and  toast  his  system 
craved. 

It  was  after  this  alleged  breakfast  that  Ranny 
faced  his  real  ordeal — a  heart-to-heart  talk  with 
Father.  Approaching  the  subject  with  a  leisurely 
Sunday  air,  Father  began  asking  queer  and  unre 
lated  questions  like,  "Isn't  Bud  Hicks  a  fine  boy?" 
and,  "How  would  you  like  it  if  you  had  to  stay  home 
from  school?"  Before  Ranny  was  aware  of  the  pur 
port  of  these  questions  he  had  made  some  damaging 
admissions — in  fact,  Father's  campaign  of  exposure 
soon  laid  his  plot  pretty  bare.  It  was  decreed  that 
Ranny  was  to  stay  in  bed,  although  the  day  was  a 
notably  fine  one  and  Father  would  have  been  glad 
for  youthful  company  in  a  walk  down  to  the  post- 
office  and  perhaps  a  look  at  the  lake  to  see  how  the 
ice  was  getting  on.  For  dinner  Ranny  was  to  have 
milk  and  toast,  but,  unfortunately,  none  of  the  fried 
chicken  which  he  understood  Mother  was  preparing. 
This  was  not  wholly  calamitous  because  there  would 
be  just  so  much  more  for  those  who  enjoyed  good 
health. 

"Ain't  I  goin'  to  have  anything  to  eat?"  asked 
Ranny,  who  had  by  this  time  ceased  to  regard  milk 
and  toast  in  the  light  of  provender. 

"Yes,"  Father  replied,  cheerfully.  "The  doctor 
182 


MALADY   AFORETHOUGHT 

says  that  this  evening,  if  all  goes  well,  you  may  have 
some  nice  orange- juice." 

Ranny  searched  Father's  face,  but  saw  only  pity 
there.  Realizing  that  the  day  was  lost,  he  turned  his 
thoughts  toward  the  future. 
"Must  I  be  sick  to-morrow?" 
"We'll  see  how  you  feel  in  the  morning." 
It  was  a  hungry,  lingering  day  of  brown,  bitter 
medicine,  delicious  dinner-time  odors,  and  of  Father's 
exasperating  new  enthusiasm  over  the  beauties  of 
nature.  In  a  world  of  fried  chicken  and  sunshine 
and  peaceful  Sunday  sounds  Ranny  lay  in  a  narrow 
bed,  seeking  impossible  passageways  through  the 
entangled  flowers  on  the  wall-paper — a  most  profit 
less  pursuit.  Night  brought  the  relief  of  darkness 
and  a  firm  resolution  that  in  the  morning  he  would 
dress,  demand  a  hearty  and  civilized  breakfast,  and 
go  to  school.  He  had  all  the  sickness,  real  or  ap 
proximate,  that  he  needed. 

In  the  morning  there  were  further  thumpings  and 
explorations,  a  consultation  outside  the  door,  carried 
on  with  unseemly  levity,  and  finally  he  was  allowed 
to  get  up.  A  breakfast  followed,  the  memory  of 
which  did  much  to  sustain  him  through  the  difficult 
day,  a  self-respecting  collation  of  ham  and  eggs  and 
pancakes  and  fried  potatoes.  Journeying  toward 
school,  he  found  that  the  air  was  of  that  crisp,  cold 
variety  that  makes  long-unused  legs  go  skipping  and 
13  183 


RANNY 

hopping  uncontrollably  and  hunting  places  to  slide. 
Miss  Mills  greeted  him  with  unusual  warmth  and 
was  complacent  about  his  unprepared  number-work. 
This  was  evidence  that  she  had  not  heard  about  his 
escapade,  his  violation  of  her  express  commands 
about  going  near  Bud's  house. 

Just  before  noon  and  adjournment  the  teacher 
made  her  usual  announcement  about  the  satisfactory 
progress  of  the  dear  schoolmate;  then,  with  a  fine 
feeling  for  climaxes,  unveiled  her  great  surprise. 

"We  should  all  be  glad,"  said  Miss  Mills,  "to  see 
Randolph  Dukes  with  us  to-day."  Josie  Kendal, 
with  a  sort  of  reflex  defensive  movement,  pulled  her 
brown  pigtail  over  her  shoulder  to  safety.  There 
were  thumpings  in  Ranny's  chest  and  a  desire  to  dis 
appear  into  the  floor,  as  is  sometimes  done  in  moving 
pictures.  "On  Saturday  Ranny  went  to  Raymond's 
window  and  looked  in.  Of  course  he  shouldn't  have 
done  this,  no  matter  how  much  he  wanted  to  see  his 
little  playmate"  (embarrassment  here  aggravated 
by  a  slight  snicker  from  "Fatty"  Hartman),  "but 
fortunately  Raymond  has  passed  the  most  dan 
gerous  period  and  Ranny  is  here  safe  and  sound,  with 
out  having  to  miss  school." 

Here  followed  a  surprising  eulogium  upon  Ranny's 
exemplary  record.  Miss  Mills,  who  had  looked  up 
the  facts  in  his  career,  announced  sensationally  that 
he  had  not  been  absent  or  tardy  since  he  began  going 

184 


MALADY    AFORETHOUGHT 

to  school.  "I  doubt,"  she  concluded,  dramatically, 
"if  there  is  another  such  record  in  Lakeville." 

For  a  moment  Ranny  floated  in  a  haze  of  delicious 
embarrassment ;  then  as  the  pupils  filed  out  he  came 
down  to  earth  with  an  uncomfortable  jolt.  What 
would  the  boys  say  about  his  new  honors?  He  had 
never  openly  admitted  that  he  had  not  missed  a  day 
in  school.  Praise  from  the  teacher  was  by  no 
means  a  straight  road  to  popularity — in  fact,  it  often 
gave  rise  to  a  very  objectionable  epithet. 

So,  not  caring  to  risk  the  uncertain  verdict  of  his 
peers,  Ranny  left  the  other  pupils  at  the  school- 
house  gate  and  hurried  home,  where  he  was  sure  his 
merits  would  be  appreciated.  And,  barring  the  time 
required  to  fall  down  and  get  up  again  at  the  slip 
pery  place  in  front  of  Mrs.  Leonard's  candy-store, 
he  arrived  home  at  the  earliest  possible  moment, 

"Mother,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  burst  into  the 
house,  "I've  never  been  absent  or  tardy — or  any 
thing!  Miss  Mills  says  it's  the  best  record  in  Lake 
ville— mebbe !" 

Mother  greeted  this  information  with  a  flushed 
and  joyful  face,  and  if  she  had  any  troublesome 
memories  about  his  two  recent  attempts  upon  that 
record  she  was  tactful  enough  to  conceal  them. 

"I'm  glad  my  boy  likes  school  so  much,"  she  said. 

"Ain't  you  glad  I'm  so  well  an'  healthy?" 

Presumably  Mother  thought  that  squeezing  a 

185 


RANNY 

person  very  tight  and  making  it  difficult  for  him  to 
breathe  was  equivalent  to  a  reply  in  the  affirmative. 

Father  also  was  gratified  by  the  new  honor  that 
had  come  to  his  home,  but  was  inclined  to  give  some 
credit  to  Mother  and  some  to  heredity. 

'The  Dukeses  were  always  a  healthy  lot,"  he 
concluded.  "They  couldn't  be  sick  if  they  wanted 
to."  Whether  there  was  any  especial  meaning  to 
this  remark,  Ranny  could  not  be  sure. 

But,  after  all,  parents  can  be  expected  to  back  up 
teachers,  even  when  right.  Again — what  about  the 
rising  generation?  Could  he  avoid  them  until  they 
had  forgotten  about  his  exploit?  Or  should  he  try? 

A  boy's  prestige  is  a  thing  of  gossamer,  capricious 
as  the  wind.  If  Bud  Hicks  could  have  been  there  in 
person  at  the  mid-afternoon  recess  to  set  the  tone 
of  the  conversation,  Ranny  might  have  gone  down  to 
disgrace  with  the  brand  of  teacher's  pet.  Or  if  Tom 
Rucker  had  been  apprehended  as  the  author  of  the 
paper  wad  which  struck  South  America  in  the  Tropic 
of  Capricorn  and  had  been  kept  in  at  recess,  the  day 
might  have  been  ruined.  As  it  was,  Tom  justified 
his  friendship  for  Ranny  and  put  it  upon  an  enduring 
basis. 

"I  bet,"  he  said  to  that  part  of  the  universe  which 
surrounded  the  school-house  pump,  "Ranny  Dukes 
is  the  healthiest  fella  here." 

"I'm  a  healthy  fella,"  said  "Fatty"  Hartman, 
186 


"Yah!"  Ranny  sneered.  "Didn't  you  have  scarl't 
fever?  Didn't  you  git  y'r  hair  shingled  'nd  stay 
outa  school?  You  said  so  y'r  own  self.  Didn't  he, 
Tom?  Didn't  he,  'Colly'?" 

"Fatty"  was  convicted  and  had  water  poured 
upon  him  by  the  wit  who  held  the  dipper.  At  this 
point  in  the  history  of  Lakeville  ill-health  went  out 
of  style. 

"I  was  only  out  of  school  two  days,"  Clarence 
Raleigh  said.  But  that  youth,  who  had  been  black 
balled  by  the  chronic  invalids,  also  failed  to  get  into 
the  good-health  class. 

"You  all  git  sick."  The  wave  of  Ranny 's  arm 
comprehended  most  of  the  solar  system. 

"I  betcha,"  said  Tom,  opening  up  new  and  beau 
tiful  vistas,  "Ranny  ain't  afraid  a  nuthin'." 

On  the  following  Saturday  a  member  of  the  alien 
(and  therefore  inferior)  race  of  east-warders  was 
publicly  chastised  by  a  casual  acquaintance  of  the 
new  hero  for  alleging  that  Ranny  was  afraid  to 
swallow  a  nail. 


X 

BREAKING    OUT   OF   SOCIETY 

CONSCIOUS  of  his  new  prestige  as  a  bold  and 
healthy  hero,  Ranny  yet  wandered  about  in 
the  back  yard  in  the  late  winter  afternoon  and  held 
himself  in  low  esteem.  He  was  despondent  because 
there  were  no  Indians  to  shoot  and  no  weapons  to 
shoot  them  with,  because  he  did  not  wear  khaki 
clothes  with  leggings,  and  because  there  were  no 
maidens  requiring  rescue.  He  also  had  some  twinges 
of  pain  because  he  was  not  a  colored  cook  in  a  dining- 
car — always  traveling  and  adjacent  to  food.  In 
short,  he  had  been  to  a  moving-picture  show. 

He  tried  to  play  over  a  few  of  these  glories  upon 
the  home  grounds,  but,  either  because  the  light  was 
too  good  or  his  imagination  too  poor,  nothing  what 
ever  happened.  The  back  yard  remained  a  back 
yard  and  the  woodshed  obstinately  refused  to  become 
a  mountain  cave  from  which  a  maiden  could  be 
carried  away,  to  the  disgust  of  low,  dark  characters. 
Entering  the  house,  he  contemplated  his  baby  sister, 
the  only  maiden  he  knew  well  enough  to  rescue, . 

188 


BREAKING   OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

but  she  was  safe  in  her  crib  and  seemed  hopelessly 
permanent.  She  only  bubbled  a  little  as  if  from 
the  unexpected  pleasure  of  his  company.  His  life 
was  drab  and  commonplace,  and,  had  it  not  been 
for  a  rather  tasteful  supper,  his  evening  would  have 
been  a  total  loss. 

After  a  night's  rest  he  was  somewhat  reconciled 
to  his  lot — because  it  was  morning  and  Saturday  and 
the  world  was  young.  Besides,  shortly  after  break 
fast  Tom  Rucker  made  a  joyful  noise  in  front  of 
the  house  and  threw  stones  at  a  fence-post  until 
Ranny  could  come  out  and  learn  what,  if  anything, 
was  on  his  mind. 

"The  lake  is  awful  solid  and  slick,"  Tom  reported. 
"Git  your  sled." 

"I  don't  know  if  my  mother  '11  let  me,"  replied 
Ranny. 

But  Mother,  after  some  hesitation,  yielded  to 
Tom's  superior  knowledge.  Although  not  an  un 
truthful  boy,  Tom  somehow  managed  to  convey 
the  impression  that  all  parents  were  giving  three 
cheers  for  the  ice  and  that  thousands  of  people  were 
already  at  the  lake.  So  presently  a  spirited  team 
dragged  the  sled  over  the  snowless  ground.  The  ice 
proved  to  be  all  that  its  warm  admirer  had  said  of 
it;  a  succession  of  snowless,  zero  days  had  left  the 
lake  a  miracle  of  "slickness."  The  beauty  and 
chivalry  of  Lakeville,  and  Ranny's  intimates  who 

189 


RANNY 

belonged  to  neither  of  these  classes,  were  falling  here 
and  there  with  pleasing  cries  of  pain.  The  boys  and 
girls  of  Ranny's  age  were  keeping  meticulously  apart, 
but  those  shameless  characters  of  high  school  and 
vicinity — youths  who  wore  high  collars  on  week 
days  and  sometimes  carried  books  for  girls — did  not 
scruple  to  skate  openly  with  the  fair  sex.  To  Ranny 
and  his  contemporaries  this  was  one  of  the  penalties 
of  living  to  an  advanced  age. 

Soon  there  was  a  commotion  at  the  edge  of  the  ice 
and  some  large  boys  were  seen  rigging  up  an  ice-boat 
which  was  at  once  surrounded  by  spectators  and 
volunteer  advisers.  Presently  came  an  ominous 
sound  underfoot  like  the  croaking  of  some  gigantic 
frog.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  was  no  real  danger — 
this  was  only  one  of  nature's  practical  jokes — but  in 
the  first  moment  of  panic  nobody  stopped  to  recall 
that  fact.  Ranny  and  Tom,  like  everybody  else, 
preserved  their  lives  vigorously,  but  Ranny's  con 
ception  of  the  short  cut  to  safety  intersected  that  of 
Josie  Kendal,  the  girl  who  sat  in  front  of  him  at 
school.  She  did  not  sit  in  front  of  him  now,  but  upon 
him.  In  the  instant  while  his  own  face  was  pressed 
close  to  the  ice  and  Josie  was  poking  him  unneces 
sarily  with  the  sharp  point  of  a  skate,  it  occurred  to 
Ranny  that  in  the  hour  of  peril  he  had  not  done  any 
thing  to  save  Josie's  life,  as  a  fearless  and  healthy 
person  should,  but  had  thought  selfishly  of  his  own. 

190 


BREAKING   OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

In  his  shame  he  forgot  public  opinion  and  tried  to 
make  amends  by  helping  Josie  to  her  feet.  She 
returned  the  compliment  when  he  fell  down  im 
mediately  afterward.  It  is  possible  that  Ranny 
might  have  withdrawn  from  the  affair  at  this  point 
with  an  untarnished  name.  But  some  evil  fate  that 
had  nothing  better  to  do  prompted  him  to  say: 

"Git  on  the  sled  an'  I'll  haul  you  out  of  this." 

Josie  did  so,  aiding  progress  with  the  heels  of  her 
skates,  and  laughing  amiably  whenever  Ranny,  in 
accordance  with  his  custom,  informally  sat  down. 
Before  long  it  appeared  that  Tom  Rucker  was  being 
scandalized  by  this  philandering  and  that  the  general 
public  was  beginning  to  make  remarks.  In  his  anger 
at  the  way  Ranny  had  deserted  him  for  a  mere  girl, 
Tom  turned  to  the  drama  to  express  his  feelings. 
He  and  "Fatty"  Hartman  locked  arms  and  strutted 
about  appallingly.  In  that  falsetto  which  he  fondly 
imagined  was  a  perfect  imitation  of  the  girlish  voice 
—though  it  resembled  nothing  in  nature — "Fatty" 
exclaimed : 

"Oh,  mercy!     Isn't  it  slippery?" 

The  laughter  over  this  lack-witted  sally  was  one 
of  the  most  mortifying  things  that  Ranny  had  ever 
endured.  He  felt  his  ears  growing  hot  and  he  knew 
that  he  was  turning  red  all  over.  He  looked  appeaj- 
ingly  at  Josie. 

"Now  you're  all  right,"  he  said,  politely,  meaning 

191 


RANNY 

that  the  incident  was  closed  and  that  her  absence 
was  cordially  requested. 

But  Josie,  though  a  skater,  was  in  no  hurry  to 
skate;  far  from  being  embarrassed,  she  seemed  to  be 
enjoying  the  situation  of  which  she  was  the  center. 
The  giggles  of  her  girl  friends  she  took  as  an  ovation 
instead  of  an  insult.  Ranny  had  a  strong  impulse 
to  pick  up  the  end  of  the  sled  and  dump  his  lady 
friend  out  upon  the  ice,  but  in  the  society  in  which 
he  moved  girls  could  not  be  treated  with  disrespect 
any  more  than  with  deference.  They  must  not  be 
treated  at  all. 

Finally  Josie  wearied  of  the  game  and  decided  to 
skate. 

"Thank  you,  Ranny,"  she  said,  sweetly. 

"Y'r  welcome."  He  had  to  say  that,  but  there 
was  no  law  compelling  him  to  shout  it  at  the  top  of 
his  voice. 

Josie's  thanks  probably  pertained  to  the  ride,  but 
Tug  Wiltshire  advanced  the  theory  that  girls  always 
did  that  when  their  lives  were  saved.  "She's  your 
girl,"  said  Tug.  "I  seen  it  in  a  book.  If  you  save 
'em  they're  your  girl."  It  was  not  the  first  time  that 
Tug's  passion  for  reading  had  caused  trouble. 

"I  didn't  save  'er.  I  knocked  'er  down — that's 
what  I  done.  They  hadn't  aughta  let  girls  come  out 
on  the  ice,  anyway,  always  gittin'  in  the  way  an' 
fallin'  down  an'  ever 'thing." 

192 


BREAKING    OUT    OF    SOCIETY 

But  this  harsh  judgment  deceived  nobody.  Tug 
maintained  that  she  was  his  girl,  whether  he 
liked  it  or  not,  and  cited  instances.  His  bookish 
theory  was  promptly  accepted  by  the  rabble,  and 
Ranny  had  the  guilty  secret  knowledge  that  the 
moving-picture  show  had  borne  out  Tug's  conten 
tion.  Unable  to  make  headway  against  this  ridi 
cule,  he  left  his  companions  and  started  home. 
This  move  proved  to  be  a  mistake,  for  it  after 
ward  laid  him  open  to  the  charge  that  he  had 
carried  Josie's  skates  home  for  her,  as  was  the 
custom  of  the  senile. 

Ranny  wasted  the  glorious  afternoon  in  being  kind 
to  his  family.  When  he  was  building  houses  of  blocks 
in  order  that  his  young  sister  might  exercise  her 
natural  talent  for  destruction,  the  house  was  sud 
denly  attacked  by  afternoon  callers.  He  was 
trapped.  He  had  to  endure  the  gushes  of  two  ladies 
over  the  baby — who  was  nothing  much,  so  far  as 
he  could  see — and  their  pats  upon  his  head. 

"Ranny  looked  just  like  her  when  he  was  a  baby," 
said  Mother.  "I'll  show  you  his  picture." 

The  victim  dropped  his  construction  work  and 
fled.  That  picture  in  the  family  album  was  the 
skeleton  in  his  closet.  The  clothing  of  the  infant 
Ranny  had  not  been  suited  to  the  requirements  of  a 
decent  and  temperate  zone.  It  strongly  suggested 
some  pictures  in  his  book,  The  Life  of  Henry  M. 

193 


RANNY ^ 

Stanley.  From  his  hiding-place  under  the  dining- 
room  table  he  heard  one  of  the  ladies  say: 

"Oh,  isn't  he  sweet!" 

All  this  suffering  because  in  a  moment  of  melo 
drama  he  had  asked  Josie  Kendal  to  ride  on  his 
sled. 

Neither  did  the  Sabbath  bring  forgetfulness.  On 
Monday  morning  in  school  Josie  persisted  in  being 
friendly. 

"Better  look  out,"  said  Ranny,  gruffly.  "She'll 
see  you." 

"You  were  nice  to  me  on  Saturday,"  Josie  replied, 
with  a  reproachful  smile. 

The  watchful  waiters  of  the  neighborhood  saw 
these  amenities;  their  pleasure  was  made  perfect 
by  Miss  Mills's  sharp  command: 

"Josie,  turn  around,  please!" 

Other  girls  in  the  class  now  seemed  to  take  a 
friendly  interest  in  Ranny's  existence.  Thus  Mon 
day  revealed  Ranny  treated  with  kindness  by  the 
girls  and  disrespect  by  the  boys — a  thing  to  blast  a 
promising  career.  At  dismissal  in  the  afternoon  he 
was  pushed  toward  a  group  of  gigglers  containing 
Josie.  He  went  home  and  stayed  there,  preferring 
to  let  splendid  ice  go  to  waste  rather  than  to  run 
the  risk  of  being  thrown — perhaps  literally — into 
Josie's  society.  But  Josie,  for  some  reason,  did  not 
appear  at  the  lake  that  afternoon,  either.  The  boys 

194 


BREAKING    OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

next  day  entertained  a  theory  that  Ranny  had  been 
at  her  house  playing  with  dolls.  He  was  in  that 
desperate  position  where  everything  he  said  or  didn't 
say,  everything  he  did  or  failed  to  do,  was  used 
against  him. 

When  the  week  had  succeeded  in  getting  as  far  as 
Wednesday,  and  the  outlook  seemed  as  black  as  it 
could  be,  there  came  the  horrible  news  that  Josie 
Kendal  was  going  to  give  a  valentine  party.  When 
Ranny's  invitation  came,  Father  made  some  hu 
morous  reference  to  "a  prominent  society  man," 
but  Mother  spoke  thoughtfully  of  the  need  for  a  new 
necktie.  Ranny  went  to  school  with  a  seal  of  silence 
upon  his  lips.  The  secret  would  have  been  easier  to 
keep  but  for  the  fact  that  nearly  everybody  of  his 
acquaintance  had  also  received  an  invitation.  There 
were  delighted  whisperings  among  the  girls  and  Josie 
was  constantly  giving  and  receiving  messages  in  the 
sign  language.  At  recess  the  boys  took  their  disgust 
to  the  pump  and  all  vowed  that  they  would  not  go  to 
such  a  function  for  a  million  dollars.  Ranny,  seeing 
a  possibility  here,  put  the  price  of  his  attendance  at 
two  millions. 

"You  gotta  go,"  said  Tom,  the  unforgiving.  "I 
guess  it  was  got  up  for  you.  It's  your  own  fault 
they's  goin'  to  be  a  party." 

"'Tain't,  either,  my  fault,"  said  Ranny.  "No 
body  could  make  me  go — the  marshal  or  anybody." 


RANNY 

This  seemed  a  safe  boast,  for  the  police  force,  Lon 
Higgins  by  name,  though  he  wore  a  star,  had  never 
been  known  to  compel  people  to  go  to  parties. 

"I  betcha,"  said  "Fatty"  Hartman,  "you'll  send 
'er  one  of  them  purty  valentines  an'  sling  away  three 
cents." 

Ranny  denied  this  charge  with  all  earnestness,  but 
the  valentine  idea  sent  him  home  at  noontime  filled 
with  vague  anxieties.  What  if  Josie  should  choose 
that  public  occasion  to  hand  him  one  of  those  damag 
ing  lacy  affairs  of  flowers  and  hearts  and  shameless 
little  naked  boys! 

"Mother,"  he  said,  "don't  spend  no  money  for 
that  there  necktie.  I  ain't —  I  guess  I  can't — 
I  don't  like  parties  very  much." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?"  Mother  chose  this 
time  for  quibbles.  "You've  scarcely  every  been  to  a 
party.  Of  course  you're  going." 

Curiously  enough,  there  was  very  little  boasting 
in  the  afternoon  about  the  flattering  offers  all  would 
refuse  to  attend  Josie's  function.  By  the  next  day 
it  was  tacitly  understood  that  a  party  was  one  of 
those  visitations  which  are  inevitable.  It  was  such  a 
change  of  heart  as  is  not  uncommon  in  governmental 
circles,  where  it  is  known  as  "hearing  from  home." 
The  blustering  was  now  done  exclusively  by  "Sau 
sage"  Buckley,  of  "Frogtown,"  who  lived  in  a  social 
stratum  several  layers  below  Josie.  "Sausage" 

196 


BREAKING   OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

blustered  and  swaggered  and  ridiculed  all  of  Josie's 
victims  and  made  himself  a  public  pest.  His  former 
crony,  Ted  Blake,  unable  to  deny  his  charges,  had 
to  deal  with  "Sausage"  in  a  physical  way. 

On  the  fateful  Friday  morning  Ranny  arose  and, 
like  the  condemned  man  of  tradition,  ate  a  hearty 
breakfast.  But  just  as  this  meal  was  drawing  to  a 
close  the  young  bookkeeper  came  over  from  Father's 
factory,  as  was  his  recent  custom,  bringing  the 
family  letters. 

"Why,  here's  one  for  Ranny,"  said  Father.  "My 
goodness!  the  mail  that  fellow  gets." 

Ranny's  heart  bounded  joyfully,  then  stopped  and 
refused  to  do  any  more  work.  This  was  clearly  not  a 
regular  letter ;  neither  was  it  one  of  those  cheap  yel 
low  envelopes  in  which  one  sends  insulting  valentines 
to  one's  friends. 

"I — I  guess  I  won't  open  it  now,"  he  said.  "I'm 
kinda  late." 

Mother  gave  him  a  searching  look  as  if  she  feared 
that  he  had  suddenly  become  another  kind  of  boy. 

"Oh  yes,  open  it,"  she  said.  "Maybe  it's  a 
valentine." 

In  a  moment  his  worst  fears  were  realized.  To  be 
sure,  he  was  spared  the  naked  boy,  but  here  were  the 
time-worn  forget-me-nots  and  the  heart  pierced  and 
bleeding  in  the  old  reliable  way.  There  were  also 
two  lines  of  tender  sentiment,  which  Father  seemed 

197 


RANNY ___ 

to  think  it  necessary  to  read,  and,  scrawled  at  the 
bottom,  the  mortifying,  ear-heating  name,  "Josie." 

Now  one  of  the  best  things  Ranny  had  noticed 
about  his  parents  was  that  they  never  committed  or 
encouraged  foolish  jests  about  sweethearts.  They 
now  held  true  to  form,  unconscious,  in  their  virtue, 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  was  conducting  itself 
differently. 

"On  the  way  to  the  party  this  afternoon,"  Mother 
said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  "you  may  stop  at 
Mrs.  Leonard's  store  and  spend  five  cents  for  a 
valentine  to  give  to  Josie." 

Mother's  idea  probably  was  that  everybody  else 
would  come  to  the  party  thus  equipped.  What  she 
was  proposing  was  utter  ruin,  yet,  so  great  was  his 
burden  of  shame,  he  could  not  tell  her  of  his  week  of 
trouble.  He  escaped  to  his  room  with  a  vague  idea 
of  destroying  the  valentine,  but  decided,  instead,  to 
put  it  in  a  secret  place  where  he  could  occasionally 
look  at  it  and  be  ashamed  safe  from  the  eyes  of  the 
world.  While  doing  so  he  matured  a  deliberate 
and  lawless  plan.  He  would  submit  to  Sunday 
clothes  and  a  new  necktie,  he  would  buy  the  valen 
tine  and  find  some  sneaking,  underhand  way  of 
getting  it  to  Josie.  But  he  would  not  go  to  the 
party. 

At  school  the  boys  were  hopeless,  the  girls  excited 
and  nervous.  Josie's  wireless  was  working  con- 

198 


BREAKING    OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

stantly,  but  she  found  time  to  pin  Ranny  down  and 
watch  him  squirm.  He  grudgingly  admitted  that 
he  had  received  the  valentine. 

"I'll  tell  you  a  secret,  if  you  promise  not  to 
tell."  Her  confidences  could  not  have  been  placed 
in  safer  hands.  "We're  going  to  have  cocoa." 

"That's  good,"  said  Ranny,  uneasily.  He  was 
fond  of  cocoa. 

As  the  alleged  .merrymaking  was  to  begin  right 
after  school,  maternal  Lakeville  forced  its  sons  and 
daughters  into  polite  garments  at  the  noon  hour. 
Ranny  suffered  the  common  penalty  and  came  back 
in  the  afternoon  disguised  as  a  lily  of  the  field  adorned 
with  a  shameless  bow-tie  of  blue.  Of  course  there 
were  persons  without  social  responsibilities  who 
were  not  disguised  at  all,  but  the  sartorial  batting 
average  was  high.  The  general  impression  was  as  of 
impending  Washington's  Birthday  exercises.  "Fat 
ty"  Hartman  had  the  elegant  appearance  and  de 
jected  air  of  one  who  is  expected  to  speak  a  piece. 
Bud  Hicks  had  a  sickly,  washed-out  look,  and  Tom 
Rucker's  freckled  face  peered  over  a  high,  white 
collar.  "Sausage"  arose  to  new  heights  of  arro 
gance  ;  he  flaunted  a  hole  in  his  stocking  as  if  it  had 
been  awarded  to  him  for  taking  a  city. 

Of  the  girls,  the  less  said  the  better.  Fresh-rib 
boned  hair,  flaring  skirts,  sashes,  and  white  stockings 
met  the  startled  eye  on  every  hand.  Josie  herself 
14  199 


__ RANNY 

was  in  sober  garb.  A  stranger  might  have  thought 
that  she  had  not  been  invited  to  the  party,  but  the 
girls  knew  that  a  fluffy  and  creamy  confection,  too 
delicate  for  the  dusty  school-room,  was  awaiting  her 
return. 

After  school  Ranny  hurried  off  homeward  as  if  to 
add  further  indignities  to  his  toilet.  At  Mrs. 
Leonard's  store  he  faithfully  invested  his  nickel  in  a 
valentine  which  expressed  a  high  quality  of  friend 
ship,  but  did  not  commit  itself  further.  He  now  be 
took  himself  by  ways  that  were  dark  to  Tom  Rucker's 
barn  and  climbed  into  the  haymow  by  an  exclusive 
private  entrance.  Here  he  settled  down,  safe  from 
adults,  girls,  scoffers,  parties,  cocoa — he  wished  he 
had  not  thought  of  cocoa.  To  put  away  temptation, 
he  considered  schemes  to  get  the  valentine  off  of  his 
hands.  He  would  slip  around  after  dark  and  stick 
it  in  the  box  in  which  the  boy  puts  the  evening  paper. 
Nobody  would  notice  him;  they  would  be  playing 
silly  games  and  suffering  and  drinking  cocoa — he 
jerked  his  mind  away  with  an  effort.  Anyway,  his 
future  was  now  secure.  He  would  ridicule  every 
body  who  had  been  so  weak  as  to  go  to  the  party; 
he  would  make  them  wish  they  had  never  been  born. 
If  anybody  ever  said  "Josie"  to  him  again  he  would 
reply : 

"Yes,  who  went  to  Josie's  party  and  played  with 
girls  and  drank — "  This  time  he  got  a  recollection 


BREAKING    OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

of  something  a  little  bitter  and  at  the  same  time 
sweet,  surmounted  by  whipped  cream,  tasteful  and 
fragrant  and  strongly  suggesting  another  cupful. 
Ranny  was  not  the  first  to  discover  that  it  is  one 
thing  to  hide  from  the  world  and  another  to  escape 
from  one's  memories. 

In  the  dim  and  dusty  haymow  of  the  Rucker  barn 
Ranny  fought  his  hopeless  fight  with  temptation. 
The  fumes  of  imaginary  cocoa  weakened  his  moral 
fiber  and  made  his  mouth  water.  His  interior  bore 
false  witness  that  it  had  not  known  food  since  the 
middle  of  the  previous  week.  It  was  a  thoroughly 
beaten  boy  who  presently  climbed  down  the  ladder 
and  took  his  desperate  and  hungry  way  toward  the 
Kendal  home.  Cake  alone  he  could  have  resisted, 
or  ice-cream — on  this  winter  day — but  of  all  the 
delicacies  of  a  fruitful  world,  it  had  to  be  cocoa ! 

He  dragged  his  unwilling  feet  up  the  steps  and 
was  admitted  by  Mrs.  Kendal  herself. 

"Well,  Ranny,  you  are  late,"  she  said,  brightly. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ranny.  "I  had  to—  I  been 
some  place." 

If  social  affairs  were  conducted  upon  a  frank  sys 
tem  of  give  and  take  Ranny  would  have  exchanged 
his  five-cent  valentine  for  two  cups  of  cocoa — to  be 
consumed  in  the  hall — and  would  have  gone  his 
joyful  way.  As  it  was,  he  let  his  hand  linger  un 
consciously  upon  the  envelope  half  protruding  from 

201 


RANNY 

his  overcoat  pocket  and  became  in  Mrs.  Kendal's 
eyes  the  embarrassed  bearer  of  gifts. 

"What's  this,  Ranny?"  she  inquired,  helpfully. 

"A  valentine — for  Josie."  This  was  in  the  tone 
of  one  breaking  sad  news. 

"Oh,  how  nice!"  said  Mrs.  Kendal,  and  as  she 
opened  the  door  which  led  to  scenes  of  gaiety  she 
called  out :  ' '  Here's  Ranny,  dear.  He's  brought  you 
a  lovely  valentine.  Now  you  must  let  him  take  you 
out  to  supper." 

A  vision  of  creaminess  and  fluffiness  came  forward 
and  gave  Ranny  a  warm  welcome.  "Patty"  Hart- 
man,  who  had  seated  himself  near  the  dining-room 
door  against  possible  emergencies,  lost  all  control  of 
himself  and  snickered  into  his  hand.  Tom  Rucker 
almost  ceased  to  look  unhappy,  and  girls  beamed 
maddeningly.  Probably  in  all  social  history  nobody 
had  ever  paid  such  a  high  price  for  a  cup  of  cocoa. 
The  only  light  in  the  gloom  was  the  fact  that  the 
other  boys  also  were  compelled  to  escort  girls  to 
supper.  This  was  managed  by  Mrs.  Kendal  in  a 
masterful  way  that  stopped  just  short  of  physical 
force.  Ted  Blake  wore  a  frozen  and  mirthless  smile 
and  allowed  a  great  deal  of  daylight  to  intervene 
between  himself  and  his  escortee.  Bud  Hicks  walked 
as  one  alone  in  a  vast  plain  with  night  coming  on. 

The  cocoa  came  in  as  per  contract,  steaming  and 
covered  with  whipped  cream,  but  in  cups  that  were 

202 


BREAKING    OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

built  more  for  looks  than  for  capacity — not  par 
ticularly  wide  at  the  top  and  tapering  fraudulently 
toward  the  bottom.  It  was  the  kind  of  cup  which, 
touched  upon  the  rim  by  the  unwontedly  stiff  cuff 
of  an  embarrassed  person,  would  easily  upset,  over 
flow  the  saucer,  and  shoot  a  sudden  brown  and 
creamy  stream  over  the  table-cloth  and  into  the 
lap  of  the  best-dressed  lady  in  the  room,  hostess, 
schoolmate,  and — up  to  this  moment — friend.  All 
this  abomination  Ranny  achieved  within  the  shortest 
possible  time  after  the  cocoa  had  been  placed  at  his 
mercy. 

There  is  a  kindly  provision  of  nature  which  draws 
a  curtain  of  unreality  over  our  worst  sufferings. 
Through  such  an  anesthetic  haze  Ranny  heard  the 
cry  of  the  stricken  Josie  and  saw  Mrs.  Kendal  coming 
with  napkins  and  words  of  tact  and  cheer.  He 
dimly  realized  that  girls  were  looking  upon  him  as  a 
loathsome  thing  and  that  even  the  boys  were  no 
longer  laughing.  Presently  he  knew  that  Josie  was 
being  led  weeping  from  the  room;  he  had  a  vague 
sense  that  the  collation  was  passing  into  a  new 
phase  and  that  in  the  excitement  nobody  had 
thought  to  refill  his  cocoa-cup.  He  had  sold  his 
birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage  only  to  be  cheated 
out  of  the  pottage. 

The  next  picture  that  came  out  of  the  fog  was  of 
Josie,  subdued  and  sorrowful  in  the  garments  of  anti- 

203 


climax.  She  took  no  notice  of  his  existence,  but 
left  him  free  to  enjoy  a  kind  of  day  nightmare 
in  which  white  islands  kept  floating  down  a  turbid 
stream. 

At  last  the  refreshments  gave  out  and  Ranny  was 
allowed  to  do  his  suffering  in  the  sitting-room. 
"Fatty,"  nourished  and  cheerful,  went  in  for  panto 
mime  and  strolled  about,  knocking  over  imaginary 
cups.  He  had  spilled  gallons  of  cocoa  over  hundreds 
of  ladies  when  Ranny  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
he  could  do  better  for  himself  elsewhere.  He  slipped 
out  into  the  hall  and  was  half-way  into  his  overcoat 
when  Josie  appeared,  the  open  door  behind  her 
framing  eager  young  faces.  Since  he  was  cornered, 
Ranny  thought  he  might  as  well  live  up  to  Mother's 
idea  of  a  farewell  address. 

"Goo'-by,  Josie,"  he  said.  "I  had  a  awjvl  nice 
time." 

It  is  a  social  error  to  tell  a  lady  that  you  enjoyed 
pouring  beverages  upon  her  best  gown.  Josie's  reply 
could  not  have  been  found  in  any  standard  work  on 
etiquette : 

"Ranny  Dukes,  I'll  never  speak  to  you  again — if 
I  live  to  be  forty  years  old!" 

There  was  only  one  retort  which  a  perfect  gentle 
man  could  make,  so  Ranny  made  it. 

"I  don't  care  if  you  never  do." 

In  the  front  row  of  the  delighted  audience  was 
204 


BREAKING    OUT   OF    SOCIETY 

Tom  Rucker;  to  him  Josie,  in  her  ignorance  of  human 
nature — or  semi-human — appealed  for  moral  support. 

"I  believe  he  did  it  a-purpose.  He's  mad  at  me 
or  something.  He  never  acts  nice." 

Ranny's  future  hung  suspended  upon  Tom's  reply. 

"C'm'  on,  Dukes,"  said  Tom;  "le's  git  outa  this. 
These  here  girls  makes  me  tired." 

Into  this  social  crisis  sprang  Ted  Blake  in  search 
of  his  cap. 

"You  don't  ketch  me  comin'  to  no  party  again," 
he  muttered. 

"They  cry  over  ev'ry  little  thing,"  was  Bud's  in 
dictment,  as  he  struggled  with  the  torn  lining  of  his 
overcoat  sleeve. 

The  last  of  the  insurgents  was  "Fatty"  Hartman, 
his  face  slightly  disguised  with  cake- crumbs.  The 
main  business  of  the  meeting  being  finished,  "Fatty  " 
was  willing  to  adjourn. 

Josie's  mother  arrived  belatedly,  but  was  powerless 
to  prevent  the  walkout — though  perhaps  her  heart 
was  not  in  her  work. 

"I  had  a  awful  nice  time,"  repeated  Ranny, 
mechanically. 

Mrs.  Kendal  went  to  look  for  Josie,  who  was 
probably  under  a  bed  by  now,  and  compel  her  to  bid 
her  guests  good-by.  Through  the  front  door,  thus 
unguarded,  all  the  best  people  leaked  out  of  high 
society,  leaving  behind  them  only  girls  and  such 

205 


RANNY 

drawing-room  favorites  as  Arthur  Wilson  and  Clar 
ence  Raleigh. 

"He  done  it  a-purpose,"  exclaimed  Tom,  when 
they  were  safe  outside.  "Josie  said  so  her  own  self. 
I  guess  he  was  a-foolin'  us  all  the  time." 

Ranny  had  suffered  so  unjustly  from  false  charges 
that  he  felt  himself  entitled  to  this  excessive  praise. 
He  neither  affirmed  nor  denied,  but  in  his  bearing 
there  was  a  distinct  suggestion  of  a  rough  and 
dangerous  character.  Nobody  would  ever  accuse 
him  of  being  polite  to  girls  again ;  his  name  had  been 
washed  spotless  in  a  bath  of  cocoa  and  cream.  It 
was  twilight  of  St.  Valentine's  Day  four  years  before 
chivalry. 


XI 

THE  BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

TAKEVILLE,  like  that  territory  of  which  Caesar 
JL/  wrote  in  a  deservedly  dead  language,  was  di 
vided  for  educational  purposes  into  three  parts. 
These,  in  ascending  order  of  importance,  were  the 
West  Ward,  which  had  nothing  but  a  wooden  school- 
house;  the  East  Ward,  which  boasted  one  of  brick, 
but  only  two  stories  high;  and  finally  the  Center 
Ward,  with  its  vast  three-story  brick  building  and 
all  modern  improvements,  including  a  high  school 
and  a  janitor.  Ranny  was  of  that  privileged  class 
which  attended  the  Center  building.  On  this  balmy 
Saturday  morning,  however,  he  was  not  doing  so, 
but  along  with  the  rest  of  the  rising  generation  was 
giving  homage  to  "Frogtown,"  which  was  enjoying 
a  spring  flood.  It  was  a  time  of  rare  prestige  for 
the  short  street  between  the  railroad  and  the  marsh. 
The  spring  rains  had  swollen  the  lake,  which  had 
"backed  up"  over  the  low  ground  and  finally  crept 
up  the  street  and  entered  people's  yards.  The 
transportation  system  of  "Frogtown"  now  con- 

207 


RANNY 

sisted  of  a  raft  and  a  flat -bottomed  boat  navigated 
by  the  fortunate  youth  who  lived  there,  while  the 
envious  outside  world  begged  rides  in  exchange  for 
valuable  consideration.  Ranny,  unable  for  the  mo 
ment  to  purchase  a 'position  as  mariner,  was  enjoying 
a  quarrel  between  "Fatty"  Hartman  and  a  member 
of  the  submerged  third  who  went  to  the  East  Ward 
school. 

"We  got  eight  rooms  in  the  Center  Ward,"  said 
"Fatty,"  who  was  one  of  the  leading  boasters  of 
Lakeville  and  environs,  "an'  a  high  school,  an' 
a  janitor,  an'  steam  -  pipes  that  crack  like  the 
dickens." 

Tug  Wiltshire,  the  Oriental,  made  gestures  indicat 
ing  contempt.  "Yeah,  high  school!"  he  said. 
"Fellas  with  high  collars,  carry  in'  books  for  girls!" 

"Fatty,"  who  could  not  deny  this  accusation,  fell 
back  upon  the  delights  of  steam  heat. 

"They  go  crack,  crack,  crack!" 

"You  sound  like  a  duck." 

"The  Center  Ward's  three  stories  high,  ain't  it?" 
asked  Ranny,  argumentatively. 

"The  Center  Ward's  got  no  marsh,"  said  Tug; 
"the  marsh  b'longs  to  the  East  Ward." 

"What's  the  matter  with  ya?"  "Fatty"  now  re 
turned  to  human  speech.  "The  marsh  don't  belong 
to  nobody." 

"I  s'pose,"  Tug  said,  sarcastically,  "a  fella  don't 
208 


know  that  b 'longs  to  the  Supprise  Hose  Company! 
I  s'pose  he  didn't  tell  me  his  own  self." 

"What  'd  he  say?"  asked  Ranny,  somewhat  im 
pressed. 

"He  said  like  this:  the  East  Ward  is  by  rights  the 
Second  Ward.  He  said  the  marsh  b 'longed  to  the 
Second  Ward — 'nd  'Frogtown,'  too." 

"Are  you  crazy?  Don't  the  'Frogtown'  fellas  go 
to  our  school?"  This  from  "Fatty." 

"The  marsh  b 'longs  to  us,"  said  Tug,  stubbornly. 
"If  you  don't  believe  it,  we'll  fight  you  for  it- 
East- Wards  an'  Centerses." 

"You  mean  a  war?"  asked  Ranny — "like  snow 
ball  fights  or  green  apples?" 

"Not  on  land,"  said  Tug;  "the  marsh  is  all  water, 
ain't  it?  We  gotta  have  a  navy." 

"Yea,"  said  Ranny.  "Where'd  we  get  a  navy?" 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  Ranny  had  a  very  imperfect  idea 
of  what  a  navy  was. 

Tug,  with  the  superior  wisdom  of  one  who  was 
already  past  nine,  instead  of  merely  eight-going-on- 
it,  knew  all  there  was  to  know  about  navies — in  fact, 
owned  a  book  called  With  Perry  on  Lake  Erie.  He 
now  told  the  assembled  Center- Warders  what  little  he 
thought  them  worthy  to  know  about  naval  warfare. 

"The  East-Wards,"  he  concluded,  "will  come  over 
with  a  navy  nex'  Satu'day.  We'll  show  you  who  owns 
the  marsh!" 

209 


"We  c'd  lick  ya  with  our  eyes  shut,"  said  Bud 
Hicks,  another  person  who  was  enthusiastic  about 
the  Center  building — outside  of  school  hours. 

"They's  a  place  in  our  marsh  where  they's  no 
bottom,"  said  Tug,  tantalizingly.  "It  goes  clear 
down  to  China." 

"How  could  it?"  demanded  "Fatty."  "The 
water  'd  all  run  out  and  drownd  the  Chinymen." 

"Maybe  it  does  sometimes.  How'd  you  know? 
You  never  been  to  China." 

Ranny's  eyes  shifted  from  the  desirable  inland  sea 
to  a  "Frogtown"  crew  which  had  stopped  seafaring 
to  investigate  this  delightful  clamor. 

"This  kid  here,"  Ranny  proclaimed,  "says  the 
East  Ward  owns  the  marsh  an'  "Frogtown,"  an' 
they'll  fight  us  with  boats  nex'  Satu'day — us  Cen- 
terses." 

"Us  Centerses"  now  constituted  themselves  a 
committee  on  abuse  and  vituperation,  and  "Frog- 
town"  promptly  succumbed  to  the  interesting  idea 
that  the  East  Ward  and  its  inhabitants  should  be 
abolished.  It  was  rather  a  triumph  of  diplomacy, 
for  if  Tug  had  first  proposed  an  alliance,  no  doubt 
"Frogtown"  would  just  as  eagerly  have  taken  up 
arms  against  the  lordly  Center.  Educational  mat 
ters  did  not  interest  them  in  the  least;  they  would 
not  fight  and  bleed  for  a  three-story  brick  building 
and  a  janitor. 

210 


BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

"All  right,"  one  hardy  mariner  said  at  last,  "but 
you  can't  use  our  navy;  you  gotta  make  one  your 
self." 

All  proper  Center- Warders  now  repaired,  upon  in 
vitation,  to  the  barn  of  Tom  Rucker. 

"They's  lotsa  room  to  make  a  navy,"  said  Tom; 
"we  'ain't  got  no  horse  now." 

At  Rucker's  barn  plans  were  made  and  quarreled 
over,  the  East  Ward  was  thoroughly  denounced,  and 
there  were  some  thrilling,  if  irrelevant,  gymnastics 
in  the  haymow.  But  by  noontime,  except  for  Tom's 
getting  the  hammer  from  his  father's  tool-chest, 
nothing  had  actually  been  accomplished  in  the 
way  of  making  the  Center  Ward  mistress  of  the 
seas. 

At  the  dinner-table  Ranny,  without  going  into 
needless  details,  took  up  the  merits  of  the  inter- 
ward  crisis  with  Father. 

"Tug  Wil'shire  says  'Frogtown'  an'  the  marsh  an' 
ever'thing  belongs  by  rights  to  the  East  Ward. 
That  ain't  so,  is  it?" 

"Well,  yes— kind  of,"  said  Father.  "You  see, 
Ranny,  it's  like  this.  There  are  three  wards  for 
electing  councilmen.  What  you  call  the  East  Ward 
is  really  the  Second  Ward;  the  one  in  the  middle  is 
the  First,  and  the  one  on  the  west  is  the  Third. 
Water  Street— you  mustn't  call  it  'Frogtown' — be 
longs  to  the  Second  Ward.  So  does  the  marsh,  but 

211 


RANNY  

that  doesn't  matter,  because  frogs  and  turtles  can't 
vote." 

"But  the  fellas  from  'Frog' — Water  Street  goes  to 
our  school." 

"That's  because  it  is  too  far  around  the  marsh  to 
the  East  Ward  school  and  it  wouldn't  be  right  to 
make  the  children  swim.  They'd  get  their  books 
wet." 

"And  their  feet,"  said  Mother,  dragging  in  a 
favorite  topic  of  hers. 

This  novel  method  of  going  to  school  occupied 
Ranny's  thoughts  for  a  moment  to  the  exclusion  of 
more  important  questions. 

"You  see,  lots  of  boys  and  girls  do  not  go  to  school 
in  their  own  wards,"  Father  continued.  "Now 
there's  a  young  fellow  I  know — let's  see,  what  is  his 
name,  now? — well,  no  matter.  He  and  his  family 
live  west  of  Jefferson  Street,  so  they  belong  to  the 
Third  Ward.  But  he  goes  to  the  Center  building 
because  it  is  nearer.  Oh  yes,  I  remember  his  name 
now;  Dukes — Randolph  Harrington  Dukes." 

"Do  we  live  in  the  West  Ward?"  asked  Ranny, 
in  dismay. 

"Yes,  I  vote  in  the  Third  Ward.  But  you  don't 
have  to  go  to  the  West  Ward  school.  Don't  worry." 

But  Ranny  did  worry;  not  because  he  doubted 
Father's  assurance  that  he  need  not  attend  the 
poorest  of  all  possible  school-houses,  but  because  his 

213 


BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

pride  was  shaken  and  his  naval  career  threatened. 
He  could  not  understand  why  his  parents  had  so  far 
forgotten  themselves  as  to  live  west  of  Jefferson 
Street.  As  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  ship-yard 
after  as  small  a  dinner  as  mother  would  let  him  off 
with,  he  resolved  to  defend  his  shameful  secret  at  all 
costs. 

Other  Center- Warders  had  taken  up  the  geograph 
ical  question  with  their  elders  and  had  received 
similar  replies.  When  they  found  that  Tug  Wilt 
shire  was  right  in  his  contention  all  parties  were  very 
angry  at  the  East  Ward.  If  they  had  found  that 
Tug  was  wrong  they  would  have  been  equally  angry. 
In  military  matters  the  rights  and  the  wrongs  are  of 
less  importance  than  the  we's  and  the  they's. 

"Anyhow,"  said  Ranny,  "it's  where  you  go  to 
school  that  counts." 

This  sentiment  was  heartily  approved,  though  it 
did  not  cover  the  case  of  the  marsh;  if,  as  Father 
had  said,  the  turtles  and  frogs  could  not  vote,  neither 
could  their  young  go  to  school. 

On  this  Saturday  afternoon  there  was  laid  down 
in  Rucker's  roomy  carriage-shed  the  keel  of  the 
largest  and  only  fighting  craft  that  the  land-loving 
Center  Ward  had  ever  known.  Ted  Blake  had 
joined  the  group  and  appointed  himself  manager  of 
construction.  "Fatty"  Hartman  boasted  a  great 
deal  about  what  he  would  personally  do  to  the 

213 


m RANNY 

presumptuous  Easterners,  but  did  very  little  actual 
physical  work,  owing  in  part  to  a  certain  vagueness 
as  to  what  a  navy  was  like.  Ranny  and  Tom  and 
such  willing  but  undersized  fighters  and  bleeders 
were  chiefly  useful  for  bringing  boards  and  nails  and 
responding  quickly  when  Ted  said,  "Hey,  hand  me 
that  hammer.  What's  the  matter  with  ya?" 

Ted's  knowledge  of  naval  construction  was  founded 
upon  an  illustrated  book  describing  the  contest  of 
the  Monitor  and  the  Merrimac. 

"We  gotta  have  a  Monitor,"  he  said. 

"I'm  a  monitor  in  school,"  Clarence  Raleigh  sug 
gested,  helpfully. 

Preparedness  was  delayed  while  Ted  heaped  scorn 
upon  the  youth  who  thought  this  matter  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  dusting  erasers.  Ted  then  explained 
what  a  Monitor  was.  There  would  be  a  large  raft— 
the  largest  in  Lakeville  and  probably  in  the  world. 
In  the  center  there  would  be  a  barrel  containing 
sticks  and  such  ammunition.  As  the  throwing  of 
stones  was  forbidden  by  the  accepted  rules  of  war 
fare,  any  stones  should  be  concealed. 

"How  we  gonta  make  it  go?"  asked  "Fatty." 

"We'll  push  it  with  poles,  you  crazy." 

Displays  of  ignorance  now  ceased  and  Ted  was 
given  his  masterful  way.  It  was  Ranny,  however, 
who,  while  searching  for  nails,  made  an  important 
discovery. 

214 


BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

"Oh,  lookee!"  he  cried.  "We  could  use  'em  for 
bullets!"  He  indicated  a  heap  of  half -burned  car 
bons  from  an  electric  arc-light. 

"You  can't  throw  away  my  carbons;  it  took  me  a 
long  time  to  get  'em,"  said  Tom. 

"What  do  ya  use  'em  for?"  asked  Bud  Hicks. 

As  they  were  of  no  conceivable  value,  Tom  had  to 
fall  back  upon  the  time-honored,  "Oh,  sumpin'." 
At  this  point  Ted  took  enough  time  from  his  work 
to  rule  that  all  carbons  be  requisitioned  for  war 
purposes. 

When  the  afternoon  had  waned  and  Tom  had 
twice  been  invited  to  supper,  the  Monitor  presented 
a  tangible  form.  The  outside  framework  had  been 
laid  down,  based  largely  upon  the  ruin  of  Mr. 
Rucker's  board-pile.  "Fatty"  had  taken  upon 
himself  the  task  of  guarding  the  door  against  spying 
enemies.  As  no  spies  had  come  near,  this  was 
pleasant  and  easy  work,  well  suited  to  his  tempera 
ment.  He  thought  it  best,  however,  not  to  forbid 
Tom's  father  from  entering  his  own  barn  when  he 
came  to  coerce  his  son  into  supper. 

"What  are  you  kids  making  there?"  Mr.  Rucker 
asked. 

"We're  rnakin'  a  raft— f'r  'Frogtown,'"  said  Ted. 

"Now,  look  here,  Tom;  you  can't — •"  Mr. 
Rucker  had  stepped  inside  the  shed  and  was  ex 
amining  the  ambitious  structure  upon  the  ground. 

15  215 


RANNY 

It  was  a  critical  moment  for  the  rising  young  navy, 
and  all  the  tars  fell  silent. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Rucker,  with  a  face  that  seemed 
to  be  grave  against  heavy  odds,  "don't  bung  your 
selves  all  up.  Skip  along  home  now." 

Even  Tom  did  not  understand  his  father's  sudden 
change  of  attitude.  The  Center  Ward  went  home 
to  supper  with  light  hearts  and  high  hopes. 

At  Sunday-school  the  next  day  Ranny  explained 
to  a  youth  (who  belonged  to  the  lowest  order  of 
society  and  attended  the  West  Ward  school)  that 
there  was  going  to  be  an  "awful  war  nex'  Satu'day 
between  the  Centerses  and  the  East-Ends." 

"Who  wants  the  old  marsh?"  said  this  fellow,  in 
the  approved  sour-grapes  formula.  "We  gotta 
lake." 

This  was  presumption  to  which  even  the  Eastern 
ers  had  never  risen.  The  West  Ward  did  abut  on 
the  lake,  but  so  did  the  Center  and  the  East ;  so  did 
people  of  every  nation  and  every  clime,  including 
farmers.  The  fact  was  that  the  Westerners,  de 
prived  of  the  consolation  of  a  marsh,  had  made  the 
most  of  their  share  in  the  lake.  They  swam  and 
fished  and  rowed  boats;  when  the  softer  races  farther 
east  were  venturing  timidly  upon  the  pond  ice. 
these  hardy  Occidentals  were  skating  upon  the  pre 
carious  rim  of  the  lake. 

As  Miss  Binford  at  this  point  demanded  order, 

216 


BATTLE    OF    FROGTOWN    HARBOR 

Ranny  could  only  say,  "Yeah,  you  gotta  wood 
school-house — that's  what  you  got." 

But  he  hoped  more  than  ever  that  nobody  would 
discover  Jefferson  Street's  peculiar  place  in  geog 
raphy. 

In  the  days  that  followed,  navy-building  was  con 
fined  to  the  late  afternoons,  owing  to  the  unfortunate 
necessity  of  attending,  as  well  as  defending,  the 
Center  school.  Although  most  of  this  activity  con 
cerned  the  pupils  of  Miss  Edith  Mills,  the  patriots 
did  not  consult  with  that  instructor;  the  teacher's 
interest  in  geography  was  confined  to  such  remote 
matters  as  the  course  of  the  Kennebec  River  and  the 
principle  products  of  Uruguay.  Several  times  there 
were  verbal  encounters  between  representatives  of 
the  hostile  powers.  On  Wednesday  afternoon  Bud 
Hicks,  who  had  a  roving  soul,  safely  penetrated 
the  fastnesses  of  the  Orient  and  reported  that  the 
East-Enders  were  resurrecting  the  old  sailboat. 
The  pretenders  were  shoveling  mud  out  of  this 
ancient  vessel  and  patching  up  its  holes.  It  had 
long  since  ceased  to  have  a  mast  and  would  have  to 
be  propelled  by  poles  or  paddles,  but  it  was  a  veritable 
dreadnought  for  size.  With  this  news,  work  on  the 
Monitor  went  forward  with  renewed  vigor.  Mean 
while  the  high  water  continued,  and  "Frogtown" 
still  ruled  the  wave  and  its  soggy  environs.  The  low- 
landers  never  mentioned  the  Center  Ward  in  this 

217 


RANNY 

connection,  but  seemed  to  proceed  on  the  theory 
that  the  marsh  belonged  to  "Frogtown"  down  to 
where  China  began. 

The  better  to  conceal  his  dark  secret  Ranny  worked 
with  great  zeal.  Positions  in  the  navy  were  in  de 
mand;  if  his  title  were  proved  faulty  Ted  might 
give  Ranny's  place  to  some  taller  patriot.  And  some 
outspoken  person  like  Bud  would  surely  say : 

"Why  doncha  go  to  the  wood  school-house?  Ya 
belong  to  the  Wes'  Ward  by  rights." 

But  up  until  Friday  night  nobody  apparently  had 
discovered  the  skeleton  in  Ranny's  closet.  The 
Monitor  stood  complete,  the  barrel  in  the  middle 
filled  with  legal  and  illegal  ammunition.  Ted  Blake 
had  chosen  the  exact  spot  on  the  deck  at  which  he 
was  to  stand  (with  feet  far  apart)  and  give  his  com 
mands.  Two  boy's  express-wagons  had  been  requisi 
tioned  to  take  the  navy  to  its  ocean  at  eight  the 
next  morning.  Everything  was  in  readiness  except 
a  slogan — Ted  had  discovered  that  it  was  necessary 
to  have  "sumpin'  to  holler."  Ranny  proposed  his 
favorite  sentiment,  "It's  where  you  go  to  school  that 
counts,"  but  aroused  no  enthusiasm  in  Ted's  breast. 
Finally  Tom  suggested,  "Monitor  forever!"  and 
Ted  Blake,  on  behalf  of  the  Center  Ward  and  civiliza 
tion  generally,  accepted  this  as  "sumpin'  to  holler." 

It  still  lacked  a  few  minutes  of  eight  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  war  when  Ranny,  having  supplied  Mother 

218 


BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

with  a  censored  statement  of  what  he  intended  to 
do  with  his  holiday,  set  out  for  the  place  of  mobiliza 
tion.  It  was  a  glorious  morning  of  balmy  breezes 
and  spring  sunshine,  an  ideal  day  for  slaughter  and 
pillage.  Under  the  mental  stimulus  of  great  deeds 
about  to  be  performed,  Ranny's  short  legs  twinkled 
and  skipped  and  now  and  then  treated  their  owner 
to  a  brief  run.  One  of  these  runs  carried  him  to  the 
entrance  of  an  alley  at  which  three  boys  appeared 
with  rather  startling  suddenness.  Ranny  saw  at 
once  that  they  were  neither  enemies  nor  friends,  but 
timid  neutrals  from  the  West. 

"Nice  day  for  the  war?"  he  said,  sociably. 

For  answer  Ranny  was  seized  and  pulled  into 
the  alley.  There,  while  one  timid  neutral  on  each 
side  held  an  arm  and  attempted  to  control  a  leg,  the 
third  tied  a  handkerchief  over  his  eyes.  Ranny's 
hands  were  then  fastened  behind  him  and  he  was 
requested  in  a  hoarse,  unnatural  voice  to  "Come 
along  now  and  don't  git  smart." 

"Wha's  the  matter  with  you?"  Ranny  asked. 
"You  kids  ain't  in  this  war." 

Ranny  was  informed  that  persons  who  did  not 
obey  invariably  died  in  "horbulagony."  An  un- 
military  snicker  from  one  of  his  captors  mitigated  the 
force  of  this  threat;  but  he  was  intimidated  into 
silence  by  that  long  and  unfamiliar  word.  After  a 
long  journey  he  was  led  through  a  gate,  felt  soft  grass 

219 


RANNY 

underfoot,  and  was  permitted  to  stumble  over  a 
sill.  A  brand-new  voice  asked  him  for  the  counter 
sign. 

When  his  bandage  was  removed  he  found  himself 
in  a  dim  and  unfamiliar  barn  surrounded  by  West 
erners  who  threatened  him  with  lath  swords.  One 
of  his  captors  whispered  in  the  sentry's  ear,  and 
Ranny  was  requested  to  climb  a  ladder.  At  the  top 
of  the  ladder  he  found  an  inclosure  banked  high  with 
hay. 

"Crawl  into  that  there  hole,"  said  his  escort. 
"We  can't  stand  here  all  day!" 

It  is  one  thing  to  make  a  tunnel  in  a  haymow  and 
traverse  it  at  will,  but  it  is  quite  another  to  enter  a 
totally  unfamiliar  tunnel  in  an  alien  barn.  Thus  at 
the  very  moment  when  Ranny  should  have  been  help 
ing  to  move  a  navy  he  was  crawling  painfully  through 
a  pitch-dark  hole,  followed  by  a  person  with  a  ten 
dency  to  jab,  and  going  to  some  unknown  fate. 
The  choky  blackness  removed  what  little  heart 
Ranny  had  left. 

It  was  with  vast  relief  that  he  at  last  saw  faint 
daylight  ahead.  As  he  crept  out  of  the  hole  he  was 
jerked  to  a  standing  position  by  the  proper  authori 
ties  and  hustled  toward  injustice  at  the  lighter  end 
of  the  hay -loft.  The  important  personage  who  sat 
there  was  a  stranger  to  Ranny,  but  it  was  evident 
that  he  was  a  monarch  of  some  sort,  for  he  sat  upon 

220 


BATTLE    OF    FROGTOWN    HARBOR 

a  throne  composed  of  a  small  box  placed  upon  a 
larger  one,  he  wore  a  pasteboard  crown  and  bran 
dished  a  scepter,  which  in  humbler  days  had  been  part 
of  a  broom.  This  autocrat  was  several  sizes  larger 
than  Ranny.  He  was  as  dark  as  a  pirate.  Be 
neath  the  trappings  of  royalty  there  was  something 
vaguely  familiar  in  his  face  and  figure.  When  he 
spoke  it  was  in  that  gruff,  impersonal  voice  so  com 
mon  among  potentates: 

"Wha's  the  charge  ag'inst  this  here  pris'ner?" 

"He  said,"  reported  one  of  the  guards,  "the 
Wes'  Ward  only  had  a  wood  school-house." 

His  Majesty  rumbled  and  kicked  the  .throne. 

"An'  he  said  the  Wes'  Ward  didn't  own  the  lake." 

"When  did  he  say  that?" 

"He  said  it  las'  Sunday  in  Sunday-school/ Butch. ": 

The  monarch  brandished  his  scepter,  not  at  Ranny, 
but  at  the  witness.  ' '  Don't  git  fresh  with  the  king !" 

The  varlet's  ill-advised  remark  solved  the  problem 
which  had  been  troubling  Ranny  ever  since  he  had 
entered  the  Presence.  He  thrilled  a  little  at  the 
revelation.  This,  then,  was  "Butch"  Willet,  heir 
of  Willet's  meat-market,  and  known  far  and  wide 
as  the  bully  of  the  West  End.  He  had  been  pointed 
out  to  Ranny  one  day  on  the  lake  skating  far  beyond 
his  fellows,  way  out  toward  open  water.  His  name 
was  a  commonplace,  yet  Ranny  had  never  seen  him 
at  close  range.  "Butch"  had  never  wasted  much 

221 


RANNY 

time  upon  the  effete  civilizations  farther  east ;  there 
fore  he  had  become  a  tradition,  an  amazingly  straight- 
throwing,  hard-hitting,  long-winded  boy,  an  am 
phibious  animal,  a  prodigious  swimmer  and  skater. 
And  it  was  generally  admitted  that  he  ate  raw  meat 
at  his  father's  emporium. 

"Lemme  go,  'Butch,'"  said  Ranny,  sullenly.  "I 
gotta  go  to  the  war." 

"Lookee  here,  young  fella,"  said  the  monarch, 
"if  you  want  to  go  to  the  war,  you  gotta  go  with  the 
Wes'-Wards.  You  live  west  of  Jefferson  Street,  don't 
you?  Answer  me  that." 

"The  Wes'  Ward  ain't  in  this  war." 

"Listen  to  that,  would  you?"  said  the  king  to  his 
court.  "Oh  no,  not  at  all.  Proba'ly  nobody  can't 
have  a  war  except  the  Centerses." 

"The  Centerses  thinks  they're  smart,"  said  a 
flunky. 

"I  won't  fight  against  the  Centerses,"  said  Ranny. 
"It's  where  you  go  to  school  that  counts." 

"Is  the  dungeon  ready?"  asked  the  king. 

A  dungeon  specialist  replied  that  all  was  pre 
pared,  including  "horbulagony."  Of  course  no  per 
son  wants  to  go  to  jail  and  miss  a  war,  so  what 
could  Ranny  do  but  agree  to  go  with  his  captors? 
A  few  minutes  later  the  king  and  his  cohorts,  with 
their  prisoner  carefully  guarded,  took  their  way 
lakeward,  Ranny,  angry  and  disappointed,  chagrined 

232 


BATTLE    OF    FROGTOWN    HARBOR 

that  his  West-Wardism  had  become  public  property, 
but  under  it  all  yielding  a  grudging  admiration  for 
the  scientific  way  he  was  being  mistreated. 

At  the  shore  they  were  welcomed  by  a  body  of 
fighters  and  bleeders  equal  in  numbers  to  their  own. 
Three  rowboats  were  filled  with  throwable  sticks. 
Every  jolly  tar  had  a  lath  sword  in  his  belt  and  car 
ried  a  life-like  wooden  gun.  Ranny's  admiration 
for  his  captors  arose  another  notch. 

The  fleet  was  soon  under  way,  Ranny  in  the  flag 
ship  with  the  king,  who,  by  changing  his  crown  for  a 
cap,  had  now  become  an  admiral.  As  the  navy 
sped  along  the  coast  its  commander  cleared  up  a  few 
points  that  were  hazy  to  the  prisoner.  It  seemed 
that  "Butch"  had  made  speech  with  Tug  Wiltshire 
and  had  agreed  to  aid  in  the  laudable  enterprise  of 
removing  the  Center  Ward  from  the  map.  The 
West  Ward  expected  every  man,  including  prisoner, 
to  do  his  duty.  Ranny's  capture  had  been  a  chal 
lenge  to  the  arrogance  of  the  lordly  Centerses;  any 
misconduct  on  his  part  would  be  dealt  with  by  means 
of  marlinspikes  and  belay  ing-pins.  While  they  were 
navigating  the  shoal  that  separated  the  lake  from  the 
marsh  "Butch"  was  pointing  out  the  disadvantages 
of  walking  the  plank. 

"Butch"  now  rose  to  his  impressive  four-feet- 
three. 

"Hardaport,  you  lubbers!"  he  cried,  pointing 
223 


RANNY 

toward  "Frogtown"  harbor  in  order  to  make  his 
meaning  perfectly  clear. 

The  first  thing  that  caught  Ranny's  anxious  eye 
was  the  East  Ward  dreadnought  well  in  toward 
shore  and  bristling  with  belligerents.  Soon  he  saw 
the  raft  and  flat-bottomed  boat  of  the  lowlanders 
vigorously  defending  their  altars  and  their  fires. 
But  where  was  the  Monitor? 

Where  was  the  Monitor?  Ranny's  hope  that  it 
was  hiding  behind  the  dreadnought  was  dispelled 
when  he  discovered  Ted  Blake  and  his  command 
standing  on  the  shore,  trying  to  bombard  the 
Easterners  with  sticks,  shouting,  "Monitor  forever!" 
but  not  stating  where  it  might  be  found.  Had  Mr. 
Rucker  at  the  last  minute  refused  to  allow  them  to 
bring  the  navy? 

As  they  drew  into  the  harbor  Ranny  saw  a  moving 
picture  of  defeat.  "Fatty"  Hartman  was  attempt 
ing  to  launch  what  looked  like  an  abandoned  cellar 
door,  but  the  minute  it  struck  the  water  it  was 
occupied  by  eager  mariners,  and  sank  with  universal 
feet -wetting.  "Frogtown's"  fight  was  valiant,  but 
hopeless.  The  dreadnought  was  creeping  steadily 
toward  shore — and  here  were  reinforcements  to 
turn  defeat  into  slaughter. 

With  an  impulse  that  was  three  parts  anger  and 
one  sheer  desperation  Ranny  arose  and  hurled  a  stick 
at  the  dreadnought.  It  was  a  little  stick,  ragged 

224 


BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

and  water-soaked,  but  it  changed  the  course  of 
history. 

Ranny  aimed  at  the  East  Ward  in  general,  but 
what,  by  some  miraculous  chance,  he  hit  was  the 
left  ear  of  the  inventor  of  naval  warfare.  Tug,  cut 
off  in  the  midst  of  an  important  command,  turned 
in  surprise  to  the  flag-ship. 

"Hey!  What's  the  matter  with  you,  'Butch'?" 
he  demanded.  "You're  on  our  side." 

One  of  Tug's  retainers  fired  an  unauthorized  shot 
in  return.  The  stick  bounded  off  of  the  knee  of  a 
Very  Exalted  Personage.  In  that  instant  the  un 
natural  alliance  between  the  East  and  the  West 
was  dissolved. 

"Give  'em  one,  men!"  shouted  Admiral  "Butch." 
The  flag-ship  responded  with  a  shower  of  sticks  and 
the  play-boys  of  the  western  world  were  soon  closing 
in  upon  the  unwieldy  craft.  That  is,  two  of  the 
three  boats  were  closing  in ;  the  third,  not  yet  aware 
of  its  country's  change  of  policy,  was  exchanging 
missiles  and  insults  with  the  "Frogt owners."  For  a 
few  moments  the  world  was  presented  with  the  con 
fusing  spectacle  of  one  navy  fighting  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  same  war;  but  presently  the  admiral  put 
a  stop  to  this  illogical  slaughter  and  summoned  all 
patriots  against  the  dreadnought.  Soon  the  lighter 
vessels  had  it  completely  surrounded. 

Admiral  "Butch,"  well  versed  in  the  literature  of 

225 


RANNY 

piracy,  now  ordered  his  vassals  to  board  her  and  at 
the  cost  of  a  few  bruised  fingers  and  one  splash  in 
the  shallow  water  this  was  accomplished,  Ranny 
being  among  the  first  invaders.  Meanwhile  the 
Center  Ward  shore  batteries  had  located  the  dread 
nought  with  the  long-range  Rucker  carbons  and  were 
inflicting  slight  but  impartial  damage  upon  friend 
and  foe.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  the  only  missile 
which  actually  struck  Ranny  during  the  engagement 
was  one  of  those  carbons  which  he  had  himself 
discovered. 

Admiral  "Butch"  now  demanded  that  Tug  and 
his  crew  surrender ;  this  they  naturally  refused  to  do. 

"You  said  you  was  comin'  here  to  help  us!"  Tug 
shouted. 

"Yeah,  help  you!     Why  did  you  sling  at  me?" 

This  argument  never  reached  its  logical  conclusion 
in  a  personal  encounter  between  the  two  com 
manders,  for  at  that  moment  the  dreadnought,  which 
had  been  leaking  increasingly  during  the  engagement, 
now,  under  the  weight  of  the  buccaneers  began  to 
sink,  the  water  pouring  through  its  bottom  in  little 
geysers.  It  required  the  combined  efforts  of  the 
mariners  of  all  nations  to  run  the  craft  close  to  the 
shore  where  its  old  bones  could  rest  comfortably  upon 
the  mud  and  to  get  its  occupants  safe  to  dry  land. 

This  event  was  regarded  by  the  Westerners  as 
equivalent  to  surrender.  On  the  strength  of  it 

226 


BATTLE  OF  FROGTOWN  HARBOR 

they  claimed  all  territory  in  sight.  The  Far  East 
declared  the  proceedings  null  and  void  because  King 
"Butch"  had  gone  back  upon  his  royal  word.  The 
Center  Ward  boasters  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of 
one  another  that  if  they  had  only  got  their  navy  there 
they  would  have  defeated  all  corners,  and  therefore 
the  marsh,  as  always,  belonged  to  them.  The 
"Frogtown"  tars,  having  no  interest  in  political  dis 
cussion,  swarmed  upon  the  sunken  craft  and  marked 
it  for  their  own.  Thus,  happily,  the  war  had  not 
settled  anything,  and  it  would  be  necessary  to  have 
another  one  next  Saturday,  weather  permitting. 

Because  of  the  fortunate  turn  of  affairs,  Ranny 
could  now  meet  his  old  commander  without  shame. 

"Wha's  the  matter  with  the  Monitor?"  he  asked. 
"Why  didn't  you  bring  it?" 

"Aw,"  said  Ted  Blake,  "they  made  it  too  big. 
They  couldn't  get  it  outa  the  barn." 

"You  was  bossin'  everything,"  said  Tom  Rucker, 
hotly.  "You  thought  you  was  smart.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  Ranny  bringin'  help,  them  East- Wards 
would  won." 

"If  I  could  only  got  my  boat  a-floatin',"  said 
"Fatty,"  "I'd  'a'  showed  'em."  This  ridiculous  re 
mark  restored  everybody  to  good  humor. 

The  Westerners  having,  by  their  own  admission, 
added  a  vast  amount  of  subaqueous  territory  to 
their  realm,  now  embarked  for  home,  Admiral 

227 


RANNY 

"Butch"  standing  up  in  the  boat  in  that  command 
ing,  perilous  way  in  which  Washington  is  supposed 
to  have  crossed  the  Delaware.  They  made  a  brave 
appearance  as  they  sped  away,  the  three  boats  racing 
side  by  side,  bristling  with  black  gun-barrels  and 
waving  swords. 

"Them  guns  wouldn't  shoot,"  said  Bud  Hicks, 
but  with  ill-concealed  admiration. 

"They  got  the  best  navy  of  all,"  said  Tom. 
"Howja  come  to  be  with  'em,  Ranny?" 

"By  rights,"  said  Ranny,  proudly,  "I  belong  to 
the  Wes'  Ward." 


XII 

THE   WAY   OF   THE   REFORMER 

r  I  ^HE  boyhood  of  Lakeville  trooped  through  the 
1  changing  seasons  in  close  formation;  it  had 
no  use  for  advance-guards,  no  sympathy  for  strag 
glers.  When  society  decreed  that  it  was  time  to 
bounce  hard-rubber  balls  upon  sidewalks,  all  the 
world  went  a-bouncing — until  potato-shooters  came 
in  and  made  bouncing  ridiculous.  A  nameless  paper 
device  that  produced  a  valuable  noise,  a  button 
buzzing  on  strings,  a  willow  whistle,  each  strutted 
and  fretted  its  hour  upon  the  stage,  then  jackstones 
became  the  rage,  subject  to  change  without  notice. 
At  early  frost-time  when  the  air  was  blue  and  pun 
gent  with  burning  leaves  all  the  best  people  wore 
walnut  stains  upon  their  fingers.  A  dry  place  upon 
the  bare  ground,  a  knuckle- warming  sun,  and  a  shop- 
window  display  mixed  in  the  crucible  of  spring,  and 
suddenly  it  could  be  seen  that  daylight  was  made 
for  marbles.  Now  it  was  a  matter  of  social  soli 
darity  to  be  lumpy  in  contour  and  to  rattle  when  you 
walked. 

229 


Ranny  was  three  days  overdue  as  a  marble  fiend, 
and  was  beginning  to  feel  like  a  fossil  when,  on  an 
April  Saturday  morning  of  mellow  breezes,  he  came 
into  money.  Ordinarily  Ranny  did  not  spend  his 
weekly  dime  at  once,  but  by  dribbling  it  into  his 
interior  sometimes  made  it  last  until  well  toward 
noon.  To-day,  however,  as  he  advanced  along  the 
sidewalk  by  an  elaborate  system  of  hops  and  skips 
— a  method  of  locomotion  of  his  own  discovery — he 
had  bolder  and  nobler  plans. 

Presently  he  met  Tom  Rucker,  who  was  indulging 
in  the  solitary  pleasure  of  kicking  a  tin  can  along 
the  walk.  Tom  was,  of  all  persons,  the  one  whom 
Ranny  most  desired  to  see,  but  the  coincidence  need 
not  appear  striking,  as  they  were  on  the  way  to  each 
other's  home. 

"  'Lo,Tom!"  said  Ranny,  giving  the  can  a  sociable 
kick. 

"Did  ya  git  it?"  asked  Tom. 

Ranny  displayed  two  nickels.  "Come  on  to  Mis' 
Leonard's,"  he  said. 

"Aw,  Mis'  Leonard's  is  no  good  f'r  marbles.  Le's 
go  down-town.  Ya  git  more." 

It  was  a  tragic  fact,  frequently  mentioned  to  cus 
tomers  by  the  perennially  tearful  Mrs.  Leonard, 
that  she  could  not  compete  with  the  larger  stores 
down-town.  Her  little  shop  in  the  residence  district 
was  an  economic  error  living  precariously  upon  the 

230 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    REFORMER 

bad  memories  of  adults  and  the  temptation  of  youth. 
As  Ranny  had  no  prejudice  in  her  favor,  the  tin  can 
was  now  belabored  toward  the  busier  marts  of  trade 
and  was  soon  abandoned  in  favor  of  a  hitch  on  the 
back  of  Alleston's  delivery- wagon.  The  two  boys 
rode  almost  a  block  before  they  were  discovered  and 
chased  off. 

Tom  Rucker,  connoisseur  and  collector  of  marbles, 
led  his  friend  to  the  completest  stock  in  Lakeville 
and  gave  out  free  advice  in  the  purchase,  producing 
from  his  own  pocket  examples  of  what  heights  of 
excellence  marbles  can  reach.  They  examined  hy- 
percritically  a  number  of  cornelians,  although  both 
knew  that  Ranny  was  in  no  position  to  buy  such 
luxuries.  Finally  they  settled  upon  a  glassy  as  a 
shooter  and  a  line  of  aggies,  commies,  and  white 
alleys.  The  commies  were  the  cheapest  of  all,  due 
in  part  to  the  fact  that  these  dabs  of  brown  clay 
were  not  entirely  round.  They  were  useful,  Tom 
explained,  for  playing  keeps  because  it  was  almost  a 
pleasure  to  lose  a  few  of  them. 

"One  time,"  said  Tom,  as  they  proceeded  toward 
a  favorite  gaming-place,  "I  saw  two  big  fellas  playin' 
keeps  f'r  canelias." 

"It's  gamblin'  to  play  keeps  f'r  canelias." 

This  phase  of  the  subject  did  not  excite  Tom. 

"They  c'd  stand  up  like  this  and  plunk  'em." 
Tom  made  gestures  as  of  one  plunking. 

16  231 


RANNY __ 

"One  time  I  saw  a  great  big  man  play  in'  marbles. 
He  had  a  mustache  an'  ever' thing" — reminiscences 
by  Ranny. 

"Ladies  always  steps  on  the  ring  and  their  dress 
spoils  everything,"  was  Tom's  indictment. 

By  a  perfect  understanding  the  two  marble  fiends 
turned  their  faces  toward  the  brick  church.  They 
both  attended  Sunday-school  there,  but  it  was  not 
dogmatism  that  now  led  them  thither;  the  brick 
church  provided  the  best  gaming  facilities  of  all 
institutions  in  town,  religious  or  secular.  There  was 
a  vacant  lot  back  of  the  church  which,  for  topograph 
ical  reasons,  was  the  first  place  to  get  dry  in  the 
spring.  There  was  no  fence  around  it,  yet  it  was 
safe  from  feminine  skirts,  the  bane  of  sidewalk  play 
ing.  The  brick  church  had  no  regular  janitor  like  the 
Center  school;  the  man  who  came  on  Saturday  to 
sweep  and  dust  had  a  deep  prejudice  against  persons 
who  attended  church  and  tracked  in  dirt,  but  no 
feeling  at  all  toward  those  who  merely  used  the  back 
yard.  He  did  not  have  to  sweep  the  back  yard. 
As  a  consequence  the  brick  church  was  unconsciously 
carrying  on  a  flourishing  institutional  work  with 
boys. 

When  Ranny  and  Tom  reached  this  place  of  un- 
bigoted  entertainment  they  found  a  wide  choice  of 
activities  and  racket  of  a  high  character.  Pairs  of 
young  citizens  were  competing  for  commies  in  small 

232 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    REFORMER 

oval  rings  scratched  in  the  ground.  Two  squares, 
each  about  the  size  of  an  elementary  geography,  were 
providing  profit  and  loss  to  groups  of  four.  Also 
there  was  a  game  of  purgatory,  a  series  of  holes  in 
the  ground  like  a  microscopic  golf-course. 

"Le's  play  by  our  own  self,"  said  Ranny.  Not 
yet  an  expert,  he  preferred  the  shallow  waters  of  Tom 
Rucker  to  the  depths  of  general  society.  Tom  readily 
consented  and  they  provided  themselves  with  one 
of  the  oval  rings. 

The  two-handed  game  was  a  continuous  per 
formance;  when  one  contestant  knocked  a  marble 
from  the  ring  the  other  had  to  supply  the  loss  from 
his  pocket.  Theoretically  the  game  had  no  end; 
practically  it  ran  until  one  player  had  lost  all  his 
capital  or  until  the  affair  broke  up  in  a  dispute  over 
whether  the  shooter  committed  the  crime  of  hunch 
ing.  Ranny  did  not  know  the  rules  well  enough  to 
violate  them,  so  he  went  on  doggedly  digging  up 
fresh  capital  until  his  resources  were  severely 
strained.  He  made  no  complaint,  showed  no  sign 
of  distress,  but  played  carefully  with  the  aid  of  his 
tongue,  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  his  nose.  At 
last  the  hand  that  emerged  from  his  pocket  brought 
up  nothing  but  a  piece  of  chalk. 

"I  'ain't  got  nothin'  left  but  my  shooter,"  he  said. 
"I  gotta  quit." 

Tom  Rucker 's  friendship  had  survived  repeated 
233 


RANNY 

tests,  and  yet  it  had  never  reached  the  heights  of 
which  it  was  capable.  What  Tom  did  now  was  a 
revelation  in  boy's  humanity  to  boy. 

"We  wasn't  playin'  keeps,"  he  said.  "I  kep'  'em 
all  in  a  differ'nt  pocket." 

"Aw  right,"  said  the  amazed  Ranny,  stowing  away 
the  recovered  marbles.  "I  thought  we  was  playin' 
keeps."  It  is,  of  course,  not  good  form  to  express 
thanks  in  any  way. 

Bud  Hicks  now  entered  the  palace  of  pleasure, 
rattling  his  assets  ostentatiously. 

"Come  on,  le's  have  a  square  game,"  he  said. 

Tom  agreed  eagerly,  Ranny  scarcely  less  so,  and 
Ted  Blake,  who  had  the  boastful  talk  and  the 
cracked  knuckles  of  the  experienced  marble-player, 
made  a  fourth. 

This  was  keeps  for  some  people,  but  it  was  not 
keeps  for  Randolph  Harrington  Dukes.  When  the 
dinner- whistle  blew  in  Father's  wagon-factory  Ranny 
left  for  home  with  nothing  but  his  glassy.  The  only 
way  to  lose  a  shooter  is  to  have  a  hole  in  your  pocket. 
Otherwise  he  was  no  better  off  at  this  hour  than  if  he 
had,  as  usual,  poured  his  ten  cents  into  the  alimentary 
canal. 

Tom  accompanied  his  friend  as  far  as  the  store 
corner.  In  order  that  the  time  devoted  to  travel 
might  not  be  wasted  they  played  the  walking  game, 
shooting  alternately  at  each  other's  marble,  It  was 

234 


THE   WAY    OF    THE    REFORMER 

owing  to  this  glacial  system  of  transportation  that  so 
many  people  were  late  to  meals  in  those  days. 

"When  ya  learn  to  play  a  little  better,"  said  Tom, 
"you  an'  me  c'n  be  pardners." 

"Aw  right,"  said  Ranny. 

"Come  on  over  'safternoon.  We  c'n  play  in  the 
back  yard — jes'  fun,  ya  know." 

" I'd  jes'  as  leave." 

To  be  a  marble  partner  of  Tom's  was  an  alluring 
prospect.  Marble  partnerships  were  a  common  phe 
nomenon  in  Lakeville,  two  players  pooling  their  re 
sources  and  dividing  their  profits.  That  there  were 
no  advantages  whatever  in  the  arrangement  did  not 
prevent  its  continuing — as  an  institution.  Such  al 
liances  never  survived  a  period  of  adversity  because 
of  the  well-known  law  that  failure  is  inevitably  due 
to  the  lack  of  ability  of  one's  partner. 

The  afternoon  passed  in  patient  effort,  varied  with 
some  imaginary  seamanship  in  the  dreadnought  in 
the  barn.  Once  the  scene  shifted  to  Ranny's  house, 
where  a  start  was  made  in  putting  the  Dukes- 
Rucker  Drug  Company  on  its  feet  for  the  summer, 
the  cold  weather  having  wrought  devastation  among 
the  liquids. 

The  next  day  they  met  again,  but  this  time  in  the 
restraining  garments  of  Sunday-school.  Tom  was 
humorous,  Andrew  wore  a  red  bow-tie,  and  the 
teacher  was  late;  everything  was  as  usual  and  there 

235 


was  no  sign  of  impending  trouble.  But  at  class- 
time  Miss  Binford  twisted  the  lesson  story  about  in 
such  a  way  as  to  get  a  moral  precept  out  of  it. 

"We  must  be  good  boys  and  always  do  what  is 
right,"  she  said.  "We  must  not  drink  or  smoke  or 
gamble." 

"It's  gambling  to  play  marbles  for  keeps,"  said 
Andrew,  who  was  always  currying  favor  with  the 
teacher. 

"Yes,  Andrew,  that  is  true.  It  is  not  wrong  to 
play  marbles,  but  we  must  never  play  for  keeps; 
that  is  gambling,  and  leads  to  other  bad  habits. 
Many  a  man  who  leads  a  life  of  crime  began  by  play 
ing  marbles  for  keeps." 

Miss  Binford  did  not  support  this  charge  with 
actual  examples,  but  the  bare  statement  fell  upon 
Ranny  like  a  blanket  of  dismay.  He  had  played 
marbles  for  keeps  only  the  day  before,  just  outside 
that  colored  window;  he  intended,  if  all  went  well, 
to  make  something  of  an  industry  of  it.  He  had 
heard  that  it  was  gambling  to  play  keeps,  but  had 
never  given  the  report  credence  except  in  the  case 
of  cornelians  and  possibly  moss  agates.  Now  here 
was  an  authority  on  wickedness  affirming  that  he, 
Tom,  Bud  Hicks,  Ted  Blake,  and  everybody  of  con 
sequence  were  headed  for  a  career  of  crime.  The 
thought  of  Ted  Blake  made  the  monstrous  thing 
seem  probable. 

236 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    REFORMER 

After  Sunday-school  Ranny  slipped  away  without 
Tom,  a  thing  which  he  had  not  done  for  months, 
and  took  up  the  matter  with  Father. 

"The  teacher  says  it's  gamblin'  to  play  keeps." 

A  moment  of  silence  gave  birth  to  a  hope  that 
Father  might  take  issue  with  Miss  Binford.  Cer 
tainly  Father  had  never  mentioned  the  matter  before. 

"Yes,  Ranny,"  he  said,  "I  suppose  it  is.  Why? 
Have  you  been  winning  anybody's  marbles?" 

"No,"  Ranny  replied,  truthfully. 

"Has  anybody  been  winning  yours?" 

"Yes— a  little." 

"Well,  I  guess  it  isn't  gambling  to  lose  marbles," 
Father  said,  with  a  smile.  "But  if  I  were  you  I 
wouldn't  play  for  keeps.  It's  just  as  much  fun  the 
other  way,  especially  for  people  who  can't  shoot  very 
straight." 

A  load  was  lifted  from  Ranny's  conscience  when  he 
learned  that  he  had  not  as  yet  started  upon  a  career 
of  crime.  He  would  go  to  Tom  to-morrow  and 
explain  that  the  partnership  was  dissolved  in  favor 
of  some  stainless  pursuit  like  running  a  drug-store; 
Tom  would  understand,  because  he  was  of  the  brick- 
church  faith. 

But  at  the  noon  hour  the  next  day  Tom  was  cold 
in  demeanor. 

"Why  did  ya  run  off  home  yeste'day?"  he  asked. 
"Are  ya  mad  at  me?" 

237 


RANNY 

"It  ain't  right  to  play  keeps,"  replied  Ranny, 
with  characteristic  directness.  "It's  gamblin'.  Le's 
don't  be  pardners  in  marbles — only  drug-stores  and 
things." 

"Aw,  wha's  the  matter  with  ya?  It  ain't  gam 
blin'  to  play  f 'r  commies  an'  aggies  an'  white  alleys. 
Everybody  plays  keeps.  Ya  played  keeps  y'r  own 
self  Satu'day." 

"I  didn't  win  any  marbles,"  said  Ranny,  with 
retroactive  virtue. 

"No.     Good  reason." 

"Miss  Binford  said  it's  gamblin'  to  play  keeps, 
didn't  she?  Are  you  deef,  or  what?" 

"What's  she  know  about  marbles?  I  bet  she'd 
think  a  aggie  was  a  canelia." 

"She  would  not!" 

"She  would,  too!" 

"Would  not!" 

There  was  fist-clenching  that  came  to  nothing,  but 
the  merits  of  the  case  were  completely  lost  in  per 
sonalities.  Ranny  predicted  for  his  recent  friend  a 
life  behind  prison  bars;  Tom  put  forth  the  unwar 
ranted  view  that  Ranny  was  a  sissy  and  a  poor 
marble-player  and — the  universal  lot  of  the  uplifter 
— that  he  thought  he  was  smart. 

Thus  they  parted.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  a 
friendship  which  had  weathered  many  real  storms 
finally  came  to  grief  over  the  question  of  whether  or 

238 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    REFORMER 

not    Miss   Binford   would   think   an   agate   was   a 
cornelian. 

It  was  a  weak  issue  with  which  to  go  before  the 
public.  Persons  who  were  total  strangers  to  the 
Sunday-school  teacher  in  question  promptly  conceded 
her  dense  ignorance.  Consequently  Ranny  went 
home  without  the  aid  of  his  patent  hop  and  skip. 
He  was  angry  and  distressed,  but  not  remorseful. 
Rather  he  felt  that  he  had  escaped  from  the  society 
of  criminals  just  in  time. 

His  fame  as  an  enemy  of  personal  liberty  spread, 
and  when  he  approached  the  brick-church  Monte 
Carlo  after  school  he  was  met  with  ridicule.  ' '  Fatty  " 
Hartman  addressed  him  in  his  patent  falsetto.  Bud 
Hicks  was  less  subtle  in  his  methods. 

"Go  home,"  he  said,  "and  tell  y'r  mother  she 
wants  ya." 

Tom  Rucker  took  no  part  in  these  hostilities,  but 
there  was  a  triumphant  grin  among  his  freckles. 
Ranny  backed  slowly  away;  this,  obviously,  was  not 
a  profitable  way  to  dispose  of  one's  time. 

"Come  on,  Ranny;  let's  go  to  my  house.  It  is 
wrong  to  play  keeps.  My  mother  says  so." 

It  was  a  sign  of  the  depths  to  which  his  prestige 
had  fallen  that  the  only  voice  that  was  raised  in  his 
defense  was  that  of  Clarence  Raleigh. 

"All  right,"  said  Ranny,  without  enthusiasm. 
"They  can  go  to  prison  f'r  all  I  care." 

239 


RANNY 

"My  father,"  said  Clarence,  when  the  uproar  had 
been  left  behind,  "would  buy  me  all  the  marbles  in 
town  if  I  wanted  them,  but  it  isn't  right  to  gamble — 
or  swear." 

"Or  chew  tobacco,"  added  Ranny,  helpfully. 

"My  father  buys  me  everything.  I  got  an  auto- 
wagon  and  iron  stuff  to  build  bridges  and  things  and 
an  electric  train.  And  I've  got  more  track  than 
anybody  in  town." 

Ranny  began  to  see  possibilities  in  this  hitherto 
neglected  youth  who  could  wallow  in  marbles  if  he 
but  said  the  word.  He  began  to  feel  that  virtue 
was  about  to  receive  a  prompt  reward.  He  had 
seen  the  auto-wagon  in  front  of  the  store  which  had 
it  for  sale  and  had  spoken  highly  of  it  to  Father. 
Also  he  longed  to  get  his  fingers  into  that  structural 
iron. 

When  they  reached  the  ambitious  Raleigh  home 
they  exercised  the  motor-car  briefly  upon  the  front 
sidewalk — that  is,  Clarence  exercised  it,  and  when  it 
came  Ranny's  turn  suggested  that  they  play  some 
thing  else.  The  guest  knew  his  rights,  but  waived 
them  because  he  was  anxious  to  see  the  erector. 

"We'd  have  to  play  it  in  the  house,"  said  Clarence; 
"we'd  get  all  dirty  on  the  porch  and  probably  lose 
things." 

Ranny  prepared  himself  for  the  ordeal  of  meeting 
adults. 

240 


THE   WAY    OF    THE    REFORMER 

"Ranny  Dukes  has  come  to  play  with  me,  mother," 
Clarence  said,  by  way  of  introduction.  "We  want 
to  play  with  the  building  thing." 

Mrs.  Raleigh,  a  stately  lady  of  considerable  girth, 
gave  Ranny  a  critical  examination,  and  somehow 
conveyed  the  impression  that  he  was  passed  by  a 
narrow  margin. 

"Very  well,"  she  said.  "See  that  you  wipe  your 
feet — both  of  you." 

The  mechanical  erector  proved  a  bewildering  de 
light  of  steel  pieces  and  screws.  For  ten  minutes  or 
more,  barring  a  tendency  on  Clarence's  part  to  grab, 
the  two  highly  moral  youths  got  on  very  well.  But 
just  as  Ranny  had  his  plans  laid  for  an  ambitious  jail 
that  would,  by  a  charming  little  conceit,  contain  all 
of  his  former  acquaintances,  Clarence  lost  interest 
in  architecture  and  transportation  and  life  in  general. 
For  the  first  time  in  history  Ranny  became  obsessed 
with  the  idea  that  perhaps  he  had  better  go  home. 
Mrs.  Raleigh  made  no  objection,  only  stipulating 
that  nobody  was  to  bang  the  door. 

At  the  supper-table  Ranny  gave  his  parents  a  hint 
as  to  the  social  changes  of  the  day. 

"I  played  with  Clarence  Raleigh  'safternoon,"  he 
said,  apropos  of  nothing. 

"He  is  a  good  boy,"  Mother  said. 

This  was  solid  ground. 

"Yes,  he  don't  swear  or  gamble  or  anything." 

241 


RANNY 

"Do  you  mean  he  doesn't  do  anything  at  all?" 
Father's  remark  was  too  near  the  truth  to  be  a  suc 
cessful  jest. 

Ranny  searched  his  mind  for  virtues  that  might  be 
tacked  upon  his  new  playmate — not  cleanliness  or 
politeness,  because  Mother  had  an  exaggerated  idea 
of  these  things  already.  Clarence  was  taking  violin 
lessons,  but  this  secret,  also,  was  safe  in  Ranny's 
hands.  In  the  end  he  had  to  fall  back  upon  worldly 
goods. 

"He's  got  lotsa  nice  things — a  auto-wagon,  an'  a 
'lectric  train  (only  I  didn't  see  it  yet),  an'  one  of  them 
building  things  of  iron.  If  he  wanted  'em  he  could 
have  all  the  marbles  in  Lakeville.  His  father  gets 
him  ever'thing  he  wants." 

"Now  look  here,  son,"  said  Father.  "A  boy 
doesn't  have  any  more  fun  because  he  has  expensive 
toys.  I'll  bet  Tom  Rucker  can  do  more  things  with 
a  couple  of  boards  and  nails  than  Clarence  can  with 
all  his  high-class  blocks." 

"They  ain't  blocks."  Ranny  was  driven  to 
technical  quibbles.  "They're  made  of  iron  and  you 
put  'em  together  with  screws." 

"Well — whatever  they  are — can  Clarence  make, 
anything  with  them?  Is  he  any  good?" 

"He's  a  good  boy,"  said  Ranny,  desperately. 

Herein  lay  the  weakness  of  the  new  alliance,  the 
reason  why  the  week  dragged.  Being  good  was  a  fine 

242 


THE    WAY   OF   THE    REFORMER 

thing,  but  it  did  not  solve  the  problem  of  what  to 
do  with  one's  afternoons.  Day  after  day  he  saw  vice 
rampant  and  joyous  back  of  the  brick  church  and 
virtue  hideous  at  the  Raleigh  homestead.  He  began 
to  suspect  that  when  everybody  was  in  prison  except 
himself  and  Clarence  life  was  going  to  be  a  rather 
drab  affair.  Clarence  was  a  good  boy,  but  as  a  com 
panion  he  was  a  total  failure,  coveting  everything, 
enjoying  nothing.  He  could  not  throw  straight  like 
Bud  Hicks  or  wiggle  his  ears  like  Tom  or  bunch  up 
his  muscle  like  Ted  Blake.  His  marble-playing  was 
worse  than  a  girl's;  if  his  father  had  bought  him  all 
the  marbles  in  Lakeville  what  would  he  have  done 
with  them?  He  knew  no  more  about  aggies  than 
Miss — than  Tom  said  Miss  Binford  did. 

In  despair  Ranny  made  an  effort  to  get  Clarence 
off  his  own  ground,  in  fact,  offered  to  organize  the 
Dukes-Raleigh  Drug  and  Guinea-pig  Company. 
But  Clarence's  mother  forbade  him  to  go  beyond  the 
front  sidewalk;  apparently  his  virtue  was  of  the 
fragile  kind  that  could  not  be  trusted  in  public. 

The  end  came  on  Friday  afternoon.  Clarence  had 
got  out  the  auto-wagon  and,  in  accordance  with  the 
best  Raleigh  traditions,  was  taking  the  first  ride  and 
prolonging  it  unduly.  Ranny  thought  of  the  school- 
free  Saturday  impending,  and  was  very  low  in  his 
mind. 

"I  tell  you  what  le's  do—  "  said  Clarence  at  last. 
243 


RANNY 

"I  tell  you  what  le's  do.  Le's  give  me  a  ride." 
With  these  words  Ranny  pushed  his  host  out  of  the 
wagon  and  took  his  place. 

Clarence  made  a  weak  effort  to  recover  the  vehicle. 
"I  guess  it's  my  wagon,"  he  said.  "I'll  tell  my 
mother." 

There  was  a  soft-looking  place  just  above  Clar 
ence's  uselessly  white  collar  that  Ranny  had  for  days 
felt  a  growing  desire  to  pinch.  He  attained  this  am 
bition  without  ceasing  to  be  a  chauffeur.  Clarence, 
with  bitter  cries,  started  for  the  house. 

Ranny  sat  as  one  enthralled;  it  was  the  most 
delightful  sound  he  had  heard  for  nearly  a  week. 
Presently  he  realized  that  he  was  being  addressed  by 
an  angry  adult. 

"Get  right  out  of  that,  Ranny  Dukes,"  said  Mrs. 
Raleigh,  "and  go  home!  We  don't  want  bad  boys 
around  here,  fighting  and  abusing  Clarence." 

The  accused  lost  his  taste  for  motoring,  for 
Raleighs  of  all  sizes,  and  for  virtue  in  general.  He 
had  spent  the  most  miserably  moral  week  of  his  life, 
with  the  result  that  he  was  being  chased  home  as  a 
bad  boy.  When  he  reached  the  "secret  den"  he  re 
solved  that  in  the  morning  bright  and  early  he  would 
take  his  glassy  and  his  ten  cents  and  plunge  into  in 
iquity.  He  would  make  his  peace  with  the  wicked 
and  unselfish  Tom  and  they  would  take  the  joyful 
downward  road  together. 

244 


HE  WOULD  TAKE  HIS  GLASSY  AND  HIS  TEN  CENTS  AND  PLUNGE  INTO 
INIQUITY 


THE   WAY   OF    THE    REFORMER 

The  exclusive  hop  and  skip  was  put  into  service 
again  as  Ranny  set  forth  the  next  morning  upon  his 
criminal  career.  Being  in  a  hurry  to  fall  from  grace, 
he  spent  his  dime  to  poor  advantage  at  the  uneco 
nomic  Mrs.  Leonard's — nine  cents  for  marbles  and 
one  for  two  caramels.  With  a  cheek  stretched  in  a 
pleasantly  lumpy  way,  with  one  piece  of  candy  in  his 
pocket,  and  noisy  with  commies,  he  approached  the 
place  of  religious  instruction  and  unconfined  joy. 
A  shout  of  derision  greeted  his  appearance. 

"Where's  Clarence?"  asked  "Fatty,"  in  the  classic 
falsetto.  "Wouldn't  mamma  let  him  come?" 

There  was  only  one  person  who  did  not  join  in 
these  atrocities.  Tom  Rucker  looked  at  the  ap 
proaching  reformer,  flushed  slightly  as  one  caught 
red-handed,  and  to  Ranny's  amazement  pushed  his 
shooter  into  his  pocket.  Then  Tom's  voice  rang  out 
in  a  cry  that  had  not  been  heard  in  Lakeville  for 
many  dreary  months: 

"Round  ball— ins!" 

"Ins!"  echoed  Ted  Blake. 

"Catcher!"  "Pitcher!"  "First  base!"  These  cries 
from  different  boys  followed  in  such  quick  succession 
that  before  Ranny  realized  what  was  happening  he 
had  to  take  an  ignominious  place  in  left  field. 

"It's  purty  dry  back  of  the  pickle  -  works, " 
shouted  Tom.  "I  saw  it  this  morning.  Come 
on,  Ranny." 

245 


RANNY 

Ranny  shyly  pushed  his  peace-offering  into  Tom's 
hand. 

A  career  of  crime  was  blasted  in  its  infancy.  A 
greater  reformer  than  Ranny,  the  springtime  sun,  had 
dried  out  the  ball-field  and  abolished  gambling. 
Uproar  and  outrage  and  the  joy  of  living  would 
henceforth  be  found  back  of  the  pickle-works. 


XIII 

A   TAME    HERO 

IN  the  open  space  back  of  the  pickle-works  base 
ball  was  evolved  out  of  primeval  chaos  whenever 
the  weather  and  the  educational  system  permitted. 
The  first  comer,  if  he  had  a  ball,  bounced  it  against 
the  cucumber-shed  or  let  it  roll  pleasantly  off  the 
slanting  roof.  The  next  sterling  athlete  joined  him 
in  catch — either  plain  catch  or  that  fascinating 
gamble  called,  for  some  reason,  "ante  over" — the 
ball  being  tossed  back  and  forth  over  the  shed, 
alternately  arriving  out  of  mystery  and  disappearing 
into  the  unknown.  As  soon  as  a  bat  arrived  there 
was  knocking  up  of  flies,  and  presently  that  onward 
and  upward  movement,  one  o'  cat,  two  o'  cat,  and 
round  ball.  Round  ball  was  a  semi-civilized  diver 
sion  in  which  the  fielding  positions  were  determined 
by  lung  power.  It  held  within  it  the  germs  of  its 
own  dissolution ;  its  very  loudness  attracted  its 
executioners.  When  the  eighth  boy  came  it  was 
doomed,  with  the  tenth  the  poor  wabbly  thing  passed 
away  unmourned  and  choosing-up  ensued.  The 
17  247 


RANNY 

visible  world  was  now  divided  into  the  "us's"  and 
the  "thems,"  new  antagonisms  and  solidarities  were 
formed,  class  was  arrayed  against  class — and  base 
ball  burst  into  bloom.  That  perfect  thing  which  it 
cost  the  world  generations  of  leisure  and  culture  to 
produce,  these  heirs  of  the  ages  often  achieved  in 
half  an  hour. 

On  that  mellow  May  Saturday  which  was  destined 
to  have  such  an  important  place  in  his  private  his 
tory  Ranny  arrived  at  the  scene  of  disorder  when 
life  was  in  its  round-ball  or  barbaric  stage.  He  ac 
cepted  a  position  in  the  outfield — the  fate  of  the 
new-comer — and  prepared  to  rise  upon  other  people's 
dead  selves  toward  the  home-plate  and  social  pres 
tige.  As  a  fielder  he  cut  no  brave  figure.  The  only 
ball  which  came  his  way  did  so  at  a  time  when  he  was 
lost  in  admiration  of  "Sausage"  Buckley's  dog.  The 
ball  rolled  far  beyond  him  into  a  vague  region  of 
burdocks  and  thistles,  and  he  was  pretty  thoroughly 
reviled  before  he  got  it  back. 

Ranny  was  doomed  never  to  break  into  the  ex 
clusive  society  of  the  infield,  for  presently  there  came 
a  breach  of  the  so-called  peace  from  beyond  the 
cannery  building  and  the  cry:  "Choose  up!  choose 
up!"  This  hullabaloo  was  followed  shortly  by  its 
author,  Ted  Blake,  who,  as  he  rounded  the  corner 
of  the  shed,  elected  himself  captain  and  pitcher  of 
one  of  the  teams.  Bud  Hicks,  who  had  possession 

248 


A    TAME    HERO 


of  the  ball  in  this  crisis,  became  the  other  captain, 
and  choosing-up  followed  with  the  aid  of  the  ball-bat 
and  all  the  recognized  forms  of  chicanery.  The 
outcome  was  that  Ted  found  himself  at  the  end  facing 
the  possibility  of  taking  Ranny  upon  his  team.  He 
made  a  brief  survey  of  the  forces  behind  him. 

"I  don't  need  no  outfielder,"  he  said.  "They'll 
be  lucky  if  they  hit  the  ball  at  all." 

"I  don't  need  none,  either,"  said  Bud  Hicks,  who, 
against  the  unanimous  advice  of  his  team,  had  ap 
pointed  himself  pitcher. 

Ranny  was  therefore  invited  to  be  the  keeper  of 
the  score  and  of  the  collection  of  valuables.  The 
former  was  kept  on  the  ground  with  a  sharp  stick 
and  the  latter  in  a  cap — an  unimpressive  array  of 
losables,  including  two  knives,  some  gaudy  but  not 
neat  jewelry  that  came  with  candy,  and  Tom  Ruck- 
er's  imitation  watch,  by  which  it  was  always  twenty 
minutes  after  eight.  Ranny,  deeply  hurt,  declined 
this  doubly  responsible  position  and  withdrew  to  the 
shadow  of  the  shed,  where  he  sat  on  a  board  and  re 
fused  to  associate  with  the  team  which  was  having 
its  innings. 

"I  guess  he  thinks  we're  playin'  wood-tag,"  said 
Ted  Blake,  whose  followers  laughed  loyally. 

If  Ranny  had  owned  a  good  ball  or  a  mask  he 
could  have  bought  his  way  into  the  game,  but  he 
had  no  more  capital  than  skill.  As  a  ball-player 

249 


RANNY 

he  was  much  like  that  luckless  recruit  to  the  Lake- 
ville  team  of  whom  the  Bulletin  said,  "Though  a 
poor  fielder,  he  is  remarkably  weak  at  the  bat." 
As  he  sat  there  and  watched  Ted's  elaborate  imitation 
of  the  wind-up  of  Robby  Ryan,  Lakeville's  per 
manent  pride,  he  wondered  whether  it  was  not  time 
he  achieved  some  proficiency  in  this  important  phase 
of  human  life.  He  was  nearing  his  ninth  birthday 
and  was  getting  older  every  hour;  yet  it  was  a 
popular  superstition  that  he  could  not  hit,  catch,  or 
throw.  As  he  sat  there  his  only  comfort  was  that 
Ted  Blake's  well-intentioned  offerings  were  being 
batted  into  all  unoccupied  parts  of  the  field.  The 
Hicks  contingent  was  almost  powerless  with  merri 
ment. 

Suddenly  an  unaccountable  hush  fell  over  the 
face  of  nature.  It  was  like  the  instant  of  awful 
silence  in  the  circus  before  the  extra  double  somer 
sault  which  has  never  before  been  achieved  in  any 
of  our  leading  hemispheres.  Yet  it  also  had  elements 
of  resemblance  to  the  moment  last  summer  when  the 
United  States  Senator  arose  to  add  to  the  sum  of 
human  knowledge.  The  Bud  Hicks  rejoicers  sub 
sided  into  respectful  silence.  "Fatty"  Hartman, 
who  was  catching  for  the  "Blakes',"  began  striking 
poses;  and  Ted  himself,  who  had  been  pitching 
with  zeal,  if  not  success,  laughed  sheepishly  as  one 
caught  playing  with  children.  Ted  was  one  of  those 

250 


A    TAME    HERO 


disgusting  youths  who  morally  desert  their  own  class 
at  the  sight  of  an  adult. 

From  where  he  sat,  Ranny  could  not  make  out  the 
cause  of  this  astonishing  conduct,  but  presently  it 
rounded  the  shed  and  revealed  itself  to  the  eye. 
Moreover,  it  joined  Ranny  upon  his  board,  clasped  its 
large,  freckled  hands  about  its  knees,  tilted  its  hat 
over  its  forehead,  and  leaned  its  fiery  head  against 
the  building  as  if  with  intent  to  commit  arson. 
Then  it  spoke. 

"How's  come  you  ain't  playin'?" 

Ranny  was  stricken  with  stage-fright.  "Aw — I 
don't  know — I  don't  wanta  very  much — they  think 
they're  smart." 

"Not  good  enough  for  them,  huh?"  The  man 
watched  for  a  moment  the  travesty  of  the  national 
game.  Ted  was  bitterly  accusing  his  team  of  non- 
support.  "Must  be  pretty  bad." 

One  could  afford  to  be  modest  in  this  distinguished 
company. 

"I  ain't  so  very  good  yit,  Mr.  Ryan,"  he  said. 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Randolph  Harrington  Dukes."  This  was  the 
formula  used  for  adults,  but  he  added,  "Most  gener 
ally  they  call  me  Ranny." 

"Father  own  the  wagon-factory?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Ryan." 

"Most  generally  my  friends  call  me  Robby." 
251 


RANNY • 

"Yes — yes,  sir,"  said  Ranny.  His  universe  was 
beginning  to  spin  and  it  was  hard  work  managing  the 
business  of  conversation.  The  companions  of  his 
lost  youth  were  continuing  to  go  through  the  mo 
tions  of  baseball.  Robby  Ryan  said  that  he  had 
been  about  a  good  deal,  but  he  had  never  seen  a  worse 
exhibition  of  pitching  than  Ted  Blake  was  putting 
up. 

"He  wouldn't  let  me  play,"  said  Ranny. 

"Come  down  to  the  rest 'rant  'safternoon  'bout 
three  o'clock  and  we'll  toss  a  few.  How  'bout  it?" 

"All  right,  Mis— R— Robby.     I'd  just  as  leave." 

1 '  Don't  tell  the  other  lads.  We  don't  want  a  gang 
around." 

Ranny  went  into  a  state  of  coma,  but  presently 
was  conscious  of  the  fact  that  his  visitor  was  translat 
ing  himself  elsewhere.  As  soon  as  he  was  gone  the 
boys,  taking  advantage  of  a  dispute  as  to  whose  turn 
it  was  to  look  for  the  ball  among  the  burdocks, 
crowded  about  and  asked  for  the  particulars. 

"What  'd  he  say?"  asked  Ted  Blake. 

It  is  seldom  that  Nemesis  conies  as  swiftly  as  it 
came  to  Ted  Blake  that  sunshiny  day  back  of  the 
pickle-works. 

"He  said  he  never  seen  such  rotten  pitchin'. 
Neither  did  I,"  Ranny  added,  as  he  arose  to  take  his 
leave.  One  who  has  sat  upon  the  same  plank  with 
greatness  and  leaned  against  the  same  cucumber- 

252 


A    TAME    HERO 


shed  cannot  be  too  careful  in  his  choice  of  associates. 
And  since  parents  have  a  distorted  view  of  such  mat 
ters  Ranny  did  not  tell  his  family  at  dinner-time 
what  had  come  into  his  life.  Father  might  feel  the 
honor  keenly,  but  Mother  would  be  afraid  he  would 
get  hurt. 

"Robin  Redbreast"  Ryan — so  called  by  the  Bul 
letin  in  expansive  moments,  but  by  the  population 
more  often  named  Robby  than  Reddy — was,  like  the 
bird  whose  name  he  honored,  a  summer  resident. 

In  fact  there  was  something  cosmic  about  Robby. 
People  planted  radishes  by  him  when  he  turned  up 
in  the  spring  and  when,  at  the  end  of  the  season,  his 
glowing  head  disappeared  from  Main  Street,  leaves 
dropped  off  of  trees.  Whenever  he  came,  a  position 
of  honor  and  profit  was  awaiting  him  at  the  White 
Front  Restaurant.  The  proprietor  combined  busi 
ness  with  patriotism  by  installing  Robby  behind  his 
counter,  insuring  to  Lakeville  the  services  of  a  man 
who  was  vaguely  known  as  ' '  the  best  pitcher  in  this 
part  of  the  State,"  and  to  himself  the  patronage  of 
the  younger  sporting  set.  For  every  dime  that 
Robby  took  in  over  the  lunch-counter  he  gave  value 
received  in  edibles  with  baseball  conversation  as  a 
premium.  In  the  evening  the  place  was  crowded 
with  earnest  students  of  history;  with  Robby  they 
went  on  little  round  trips  through  the  ages  from 
"Pop"  Anson  to  Alexander  the  Greatest.  The  air 

253 


RANNY 

was  full  of  batting  averages  and  indignation  over 
umpires.  A  versatile  man  was  Robby  Ryan.  The 
hand  which  he  could  wrap  around  a  dollar-and-a- 
quarter  ball  like  a  red  blanket  could  slide  a  plate  of 
huckleberry  pie  half  the  length  of  the  counter  and 
make  it  stop  square  in  front  of  its  ultimate  consumer. 
In  a  boy's-eye  view  the  name  of  Robby  Ryan 
would  have  come  somewhere  between  those  of  Buf 
falo  Bill  and  Benjamin  Franklin,  the  prominent  kite- 
flyer.  Men  knew  that  Robby  was  not  the  master  he 
had  been  in  his  first  youth,  but  boys  are  as  reluctant 
to  change  their  gods  as  to  change  their  clothes.  It 
was  firmly  believed  that  he  was  once  a  pitcher  in  a 
major-league  team — though  under  an  assumed  name. 
It  was  common  knowledge  that  he  had  an  "up- 
shoot "  in  his  repertoire,  but  he  never  used  it  because 
his  "out  drop"  was  enough  to  baffle  any  merely 
human  batter.  The  boys'  awe  of  him  was  made  per 
fect  by  the  fact  that  he  never  spoke  to  any  of  them. 
It  is  true  that  Bud  Hicks  claimed  that  the  great  man 
had  once  said,  "Hello,  kidlet,"  but,  although  Bud 
pointed  out  the  exact  spot  in  the  solar  system  where 
this  occurred,  the  report  was  not  given  credence. 
Boys  were  not  patrons  of  restaurants,  nor,  in  the 
lucrative  sense,  of  baseball  games.  It  was  not 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  this  master  of  two  noble 
professions  would  ever  speak  respectfully  to  anybody 
under  fourteen. 

254 


A    TAME    HERO 


It  was  therefore  a  transformed  Ranny,  outwardly 
calm  so  as  not  to  attract  a  crowd,  but  with  a  thump 
ing  heart,  who  draped  himself  upon  an  iron  railing 
near  the  White  Front  Restaurant  at  two,  and  who 
thereafter  went  down  to  the  corner  every  five  min 
utes  to  look  at  the  court-house  clock.  He  had  often 
pointed  out  to  Father  the  importance  of  having  a 
watch  and  here  was  proof  of  his  contention.  On  the 
stroke  of  three  he  entered  the  restaurant.  Robby 
greeted  him  in  a  coldly  impersonal  way  as  if  he  had 
come  to  buy  a  dime's  worth  of  boiled  ham. 

"Hello,  R-Robby,"  said  Ranny,  with  a  sinking 
heart.  "You  said — m-mebbe —  You  know — three 
o'clock.  I  thought  mebbe — 

"Oh,  it's  Ranny,"  said  "Three  R,"  who  hated  to 
see  anybody  suffer.  "Sit  down  there.  I'll  be  with 
you  as  soon  as  the  boss  comes  in."  Exactly  as  one 
man  of  the  world  to  another! 

The  proprietor  arrived  shortly  and  relieved  Ryan 
from  the  trifling  duties  of  mid-afternoon. 

"Well,"  said  the  pitcher,  removing  a  ball  and 
glove  from  behind  the  water-cooler,  "now  we'll  see 
how  the  ol'  wing  is  feelin'.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  go 
easy  to-day." 

They  went  back  through  the  kitchen  and  estab 
lished  themselves  in  a  comparatively  open  space 
among  the  barrels  and  boxes  and  assorted  fragrances 
in  the  back  yard.  Ranny  was  placed  in  front  of  a 


RANNY 

high  board  fence  and  given  a  glove  and — as  time 
went  on — a  lot  of  free  advice,  such  as:  "Freeze  onto 
'em;  don't  let  'em  bounce  out  every  time.  Squeeze 
'em.  Don't  be  afraid ;  I  won't  sling  'em  hard.  That's 
better.  .  .  .  Aw,  there  you  go  again!  What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?"  So  life  went  happily  until  Robby 
began  to  feel  the  frosts  of  a  hard  winter  coming  out 
of  his  arm.  Ranny  now  found  that  the  ball  was 
acting  queerly;  it  was  always  in  a  slightly  different 
place  from  what  a  person  had  a  right  to  expect,  and 
he  got  some  hard  raps  on  the  ends  of  his  fingers. 

"A  little  stuff  on  that  one,  huh?"  asked  Robby, 
laughingly.  Then  for  the  first  time  Ranny  realized 
that  the  great  man  was  pitching  curves,  and  that  he, 
the  humble  son  of  a  wagon  manufacturer,  was  catch 
ing  them.  From  that  moment  raps  on  the  fingers 
had  no  terrors  for  him.  They  were  honorable  raps — 
painful,  but  honorable. 

But  the  "ol*  wing"  was  enjoying  the  spring  thaw 
so  much  that  it  began  to  get  beyond  its  owner's 
good  intentions.  The  ball  arrived  at  Ranny's 
glove  with  increasing  force.  In  his  fright  he  lost 
his  head.  The  next  thing  was  a  cataclysm,  a 
dark-red  curtain  over  the  daylight  and  an  effect  as 
of  Roman  candles. 

Ranny  did  not  lose  consciousness,  but  he  dropped 
promptly  into  the  refuse  of  a  popular  restaurant  and 
clamped  his  hands  over  a  throbbing  eye.  It  took  the 

256 


A    TAME    HERO 


best  pitcher  in  that  part  of  the  State  to  pry  them 
away. 

"Open  your  eye."  If  it  had  been  any  one  but 
Robby  one  would  have  said  the  man  showed  signs  of 
panic. 

Ranny  opened  his  eye  obediently,  but  closed  it 
upon  his  own  initiative. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Robby.  "It  missed  the 
eye — it's  underneath." 

Although  the  pain  was  great,  Ranny  could  not  cry 
in  this  exalted  society.  He  only  took  a  firm  grip 
on  his  voice  and  murmured: 

"You  had  some  stuff  on  that  one." 

He  was  far  from  unhappy.  To  be  knocked  down 
by  the  greatest  pitcher  in  Lakeville  and  environs 
was  an  honor  that  was  reserved  for  the  select.  His 
face  was  like  a  toothache  that  has  broken  out  of 
bounds,  but  his  heart  was  playing  pleasant  little 
tunes. 

At  Robby 's  command  the  White  Front  cook  (of 
an  inappropriate  color)  came  out  with  a  piece  of  raw 
beefsteak  and  the  two  men  applied  it  to  the  devas 
tated  region.  Robby  presently  went  back  to  his 
work,  but  his  victim  sat  on  a  box  in  the  back  yard, 
summed  up  his  position  in  society,  and  contemplated 
the  surprise  of  his  companions  when  he  displayed 
this  black  eye  and  described  in  detail  how  he  had 
come  by  it.  He  had  a  thrilling  idea  that  it  was  a 

257 


RANNY 

jump  ball  which  had  caused  his  undoing — if  it  had 
been  a  drop  it  would  have  hit  him  upon  the  shin.    •• 

But  when  he  was  ready  to  go  home  the  peerless 
catcher  had  a  sorry  disappointment  waiting  for  him. 

"Don't  tell  anybody  how  you  got  this  bloomer," 
said  Robby.  "Your  folks  might  get  sore  at  me. 
Don't  even  tell  the  kids."  He  must  have  seen  the 
stricken  look  upon  his  victim's  face,  for  he  added: 
"I  got  an  old  glove  around  to  my  room.  Drop  in 
here  some  day  an'  I'll  have  it  for  you." 

It  was  with  mixed  feelings  of  elation  and  disap 
pointment  and  with  a  large  area  below  his  right  eye 
that  recoiled  from  the  touch  that  Ranny  took  his 
way  homeward  and  faced  the  ordeal  of  quenching 
his  parents'  thirst  for  information. 

"I  got  hit  with  a  baseball,"  he  told  Mother.  As 
the  national  game  had  been  audibly  flourishing  back 
of  the  pickle-works  all  day,  it  was  not  necessary  to 
evade  further  questions.  And  it  was  Mother,  not 
he,  who  misinformed  Father  at  supper-time. 

"He  got  hit  with  a  baseball  back  of  the  pickle- 
works.  I  don't  think  he  ought  to  play  down  there  so 
much.  Some  of  those  boys  are  too  big  for  him." 
If  Mother  had  only  known  how  big  the  "boy"  was 
who  had  laid  him  low! 

"He'll  have  to  learn  to  take  care  of  himself,"  said 
Father,  following  his  favorite  theory,  and  he  added, 
with  faint  praise,  "He's  no  Clarence  Raleigh!" 

258 


A    TAME    HERO 


The  explanation,  "I  got  hit  with  a  baseball,"  also 
served  very  well  for  the  teacher's  ear — on  Monday 
the  area  was  large  and  blue  and  shaped  something 
like  the  State  of  New  Jersey.  But  it  would  not  pass 
with  the  boys,  who,  among  them,  had  occupied  all 
grounds  on  Saturday  and  knew  that  Ranny  had 
not  been  near  a  ball  game.  It  was  their  cheerful 
theory  that  somebody  had  given  Ranny  the  licking 
which  he  so  eminently  deserved,  for  his  snobbish 
action  in  the  shade  of  the  cucumber-shed  had  not 
been  popular.  Ted  Blake,  when  asked  whether  it 
was  he  who  had  done  this  piece  of  exterior  decora 
tion,  said  it  was  not,  but  he  was  able  and  willing 
to  oblige  at  any  time.  Josie  Kendal,  who  en 
joyed  a  horrified  look  at  the  dark-blue  New  Jersey, 
said,  "I  think  boys  are  horrid."  Tom  Rucker  pre 
sumed  upon  his  long  friendship  to  ask  who  had 
hit  him  and  why,  and  upon  Ranny's  refusal  to 
tell  was  visibly  hurt.  So  here  he  was  with  an 
injury  that  should  have  brought  bursts  of  admira 
tion  wherever  he  went  and  he  was  as  friendless  and 
desolate  as  an  umpire. 

At  intervals  of  leisure  he  mooned  about  the  region 
of  the  White  Front  Restaurant,  half  hoping,  half 
fearing  that  he  would  see  the  object  of  his  devotion, 
but  not  daring  to  go  so  far  as  to  enter  the  restaurant. 
It  was  Tuesday  before  he  actually  beheld  his  fa 
vorite  pitcher.  Ryan  was  hanging  upon  the  awning 

259 


RANNY 

rope  after  the  best  usage  of  Lakeville  clerks.  He 
greeted  Ranny  cordially  and  noted  the  decline  and 
fall  of  the  black  eye.  He  said  nothing  further  about 
the  glove  and,  though  it  would  have  meant  every 
thing  to  him  in  this  hour  of  public  disapproval, 
Ranny  was  too  polite  to  ask  for  it. 

The  week  compassed  a  reduction  of  Ranny 's 
features  to  the  normal  size  and  color,  but  his  social 
relations  were  still  strained  and  his  spirits  low. 
He  had  hobnobbed  with  the  great,  but  he  had 
nothing  to  show;  his  light  was  hidden  under  a  tight 
rain-barrel.  If  he  merely  attempted  to  tell  anybody 
something  that  Robby  had  said  the  day  they  sat 
together  on  a  board,  he  was  accused  of  thinking  he 
was  smart.  So  matters  drifted  into  another  week 
and  Memorial  Day. 

The  3oth  of  May  was,  of  course,  a  time  of  sur 
cease  from  grinding  toil.  There  were  no  divisors  and 
multiplicands  to  distinguish  from  each  other  on  that 
day  or  embarrassing  questions  as  to  the  present 
whereabouts  of  Costa  Rica.  It  was  a  day  of  honor 
ing  the  heroic  dead,  and  it  was  more — it  was  the  time 
of  the  annual  humiliation  of  pretentious  Manchester 
—weather  and  umpire  permitting.  And  although 
Lakeville  sometimes  intrusted  minor  games  to  people 
of  no  importance,  the  task  of  defeating  Manchester 
always  fell  to  Robby  Ryan.  In  the  week  preceding 
the  game,  the  condition  of  the  "ol'  wing"  was  a  more 

260 


A    TAME    HERO 


important  public  question  than  the  paving  of  Market 
Street. 

So  it  was  a  vastly  interested  populace,  with  Ranny 
and  his  noisy  contemporaries  well  in  the  foreground, 
which,  the  veterans  having  been  duly  remembered, 
assembled  near  the  court-house  corner  to  pay  tribute 
to  the  team  and  shortly  to  follow  it  to  the  ball-park. 
The  Manchester  players  had  arrived  on  the  noon 
train  and  were  changing  into  uniforms  in  a  room  at 
the  hotel.  The  local  heroes  were  gathering  rapidly 
and  the  band  was  playing  enlivening  selections. 
The  band  was  complete  to-day  just  as  it  had  marched 
to  the  services  at  the  cemetery.  On  ordinary  days 
the  ball  games  had  to  be  content  with  such  musicians 
as  could  "get  off." 

Ranny  knew  that  he  could  not  expect  recognition 
from  high  quarters  on  so  public  an  occasion;  even 
adults  got  only  stingy  salutations  when  Robby  was 
in  his  official  mood.  The  layer  of  boys  was  thickest 
around  Robby,  just  as  at  circus  parades  it  enveloped 
the  personality  of  the  elephant.  In  order  that  Robby 
might  at  least  have  the  pleasure  of  knowing  that  his 
new  friend  was  present  and  loyal,  Ranny  spoke 
loudly  to  his  companions  of  what  Lakeville  would 
presently  do  to  its  guests. 

"They  won't  git  a  smell — them  Manchesters. " 

"Well,  who  said  they  would?"  asked  Ted  Blake. 
"What  do  you  know  about  baseball,  anyhow?" 

261 


RANNY 

"He's  the  worst  player  I  ever  seen,"  said  "Fatty" 
Hartman  out  of  his  vast  experience.  "He  slings 
like  Clarence  Raleigh." 

"He  told  the  teacher  "—this  from  Ted— "that  he 
got  hit  in  the  eye  play  in'  ball." 

"Who'd  let  him  on  any  team?  Tell  me  that." 
Nobody  told  Bud  that,  so  he  added,  "All  he  knows 
how  to  play  is  wood-tag." 

The  defendant  did  his  best,  but  he  was  outnum 
bered  and  outhooted.  The  noise  of  the  conflict, 
however,  arrested  the  attention  of  the  peerless  one, 
whose  eye  condescended  to  dwell  upon  the  group  of 
noisy  fans.  His  face  suddenly  lighted. 

"Hey,  ol'  Blackeye,"  he  said,  "come  'ere  a  min 
ute.  Here's  that  glove  I  promised  you  the  day  you 
stopped  one  of  my  fast  ones  with  your  bare  face. 
I  forgot  it  'til  I  was  gettin'  out  my  stuff  to-day." 

In  a  mild  form  of  insanity  that  was  more  eloquent 
than  verbal  thanks,  Ranny  took  the  thing  in  his 
unworthy  hands. 

"It's  busted  there,"  Robby  explained,  "but  it 
won't  be  hard  to  mend." 

"All  right,  Robby."  It  might  as  well  be  clear 
how  these  cronies  addressed  each  other.  "I  can 
fix  it  easy.  It's  a  fine  ol'  glove." 

Out  of  a  corner  of  his  eye  Ranny  watched  his 
unfortunate  companions,  open-mouthed  with  as 
tonishment.  He  almost  felt  sorry  for  them — but  not 

262 


A    TAME    HERO 


quite.  Every  word  of  Robby's  had  been  audible 
to  Ranny's  humble  friends.  In  that  instant  the  veil 
which  hid  the  future  was  torn  away.  He  would 
organize  a  team  centering  about  him  and  his  glove. 
They  would  save  up  for  caps  and  pants.  If  the  boys 
wanted  to  refer  to  their  manager-captain-pitcher  as 
"Ol'  Blackeye,"  why,  all  right. 

"Wanta  carry  this  for  me?" 

The  delicious  words  roused  Ranny  from  his  day 
dream.  It  was  a  new  altitude  record  in  man's  hu 
manity  to  boy.  As  one  conferring  knighthood,  Robby 
handed  over  in  the  presence  of  the  best  part  of 
Lakeville  a  bat  which  he  had  suddenly  found  himself 
unwilling  to  carry.  It  was  not  merely  a  bat,  it  was 
the  bat — "the  old  black  war-club"  the  Bulletin  often 
called  it — a  murderous  weapon  and  historical  relic. 
At  this  emotional  moment  the  band  struck  up  a 
marching  tune  and  the  procession  toward  the  ball 
park  began.  Ranny  buttoned  the  glove  to  his  belt 
just  over  his  hip  after  the  manner  of  the  demigods  of 
the  diamond,  and  put  the  fiendish  war-club  over  his 
shoulder.  Thus  he  walked  beside  his  tame  hero, 
and  delicious  little  thrills  ran  up  and  down  his  spinal 
cord. 

Yet  he  did  not  precisely  walk;  he  floated,  he  was 
wafted.  By  an  easy  fancy,  he  was  the  center  of  the 
admiring  gaze  of  all  who  lined  the  street  or  sat  upon 
bunting-wreathed  verandas  or  sauntered  along  tow- 

18  263 


RANNY 

ard  the  ball-grounds.  For  him  they  shouted;  for 
him  the  band  was  playing,  the  sun  was  shining,  the 
roadside  was  gay  with  dandelions,  birds  were  singing, 
girls  in  white  were  waving  tiny  American  flags.  He 
wished  this  parade  would  never  end.  If  only  he 
might  drift  forever  down  this  stream  of  dusty  sun 
light! 

But  owing  to  the  short-sighted  policy  of  the  man 
agement  in  building  the  ball-grounds  so  close  to  the 
town,  the  gate  was  soon  in  sight  and  Ranny  saw  that 
only  minutes  separated  him  from  the  time  when  he 
must  slide  off  of  Olympus  and  mingle  with  mortals 
again. 

In  the  society  to  which  Ranny  belonged  one  never 
presented  oneself  at  the  entrance  and  wasted  fifteen 
cents  upon  admission,  even  if  one  had  fifteen  cents. 
The  thing  was  not  done.  Somehow  it  was  thought 
soft  to  pay  your  way  in.  Instead,  the  youngest 
set  moved  into  a  tree  just  outside  the  fence  until 
from  the  grand  stand  it  seemed  black  with  lively  and 
noisy  fruit.  As  the  innings  rolled  on  and  the  watch 
man  got  more  and  more  interested  in  the  game,  dis 
cipline  was  bound  to  relax.  The  time  always  came 
when  one  could  drop  off  of  the  boy-tree  and  climb 
to  the  top  of  the  fence.  A  foul  knocked  in  that  di 
rection  was  then  good  for  three  admissions,  and  by 
the  seventh  inning  all  the  real  people  were  down  by 
the  diamond  seeing  life.  It  was  to  this  gradual 

264 


A   TAME    HERO 


admission  to  a  ball  game  that  Ranny  now  reconciled 
himself,  determined,  however,  that  his  mortal  spirit 
should  be  reasonably  proud. 

But  at  the  gate,  the  personal  history  of  Randolph 
Harrington  Dukes  entered  upon  a  new  phase.  The 
old  life  had  served  its  purpose  and  passed  away. 
Robby's  words  came  out  clear;  not  a  scoffer  could 
ever  deny  them.  They  were  accompanied  by  a  jerk 
of  Lakeville's  most  prominent  thumb  in  Ranny 's 
direction. 

"It's  all  right,  Jake,"  said  Robby  to  the  gate 
keeper.  "He's  with  me." 


XIV 

THE    INTEMPERATE   ZONE 

HAVING  presented  himself  at  dinner-time  with 
extraordinary  promptness,  Ranny  indulged  in 
an  elaborate  pretense  that  nothing  unusual  was 
afoot.  He  whistled  carelessly  as  he  wandered  about 
the  house,  stopping  from  time  to  time  to  gaze  out 
of  the  dining-room  window  as  though  fond  of 
nature.  He  responded  in  an  absent  way  to  Mother's 
second  request  for  aiding  in  setting  the  table.  •  But 
all  the  time,  whether  he  was  watching  the  sidewalk 
for  Father  or  laying  out  knives  and  forks,  he  kept 
his  left  hand  in  his  jacket  pocket.  At  this  noontime 
in  early  June  Ranny  was  for  all  practical  purposes  a 
one-armed  boy. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  hand,  dear?" 
Mother  asked. 

"Nothin'."  With  an  air  of  injured  innocence  he 
suffered  the  hand  to  be  drawn  out  of  the  pocket 
empty. 

Only,  of  course,  there  is  a  formula  for  such  occa 
sions, 

36$ 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

"My!  how  dirty!"  was  Mother's  trite  remark. 

When  the  hands  had  undergone  soil  treatment,  and 
Father  had  come  home,  and  the  baby  had  been  over 
powered  and  lashed  into  the  high-chair,  and  the 
process  of  feeding  the  inner  Dukes  had  begun, 
Ranny  gave  up  the  struggle  against  impending 
speech. 

"I  got  a  free  ticket  f'r  a  lecksure  this  afternoon. 
C-can  I  go?"  He  passed  the  pasteboard  over  to 
Father,  letting  it  speak  for  itself. 

"Admit  one,"  Father  read,  impressively.  "An 
Illustrated  Lecture  by  Mrs.  B.  Hubbard  Smitherson 
upon  the  Evils  of  Intemperance.  Fireman's  Hall, 
Wednesday  Afternoon  at  Four  o' Clock." 

"Well,  I  wondered,"  said  Mother,  cryptically. 

"I  don't  know."  Father's  words  were  designed  to 
soar  above  the  juvenile  head.  "Isn't  it  pretty  early 
to  begin  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"Please  let  me  go.  Mebbe  they  will  be  pictures 
or  something." 

"I  don't  suppose  it  can  do  any  harm,"  said 
Mother.  "They  wouldn't  go  into  disgusting  details 
— before  children." 

"Ever'body  got  tickets,"  Ranny  argued. 

"All  right,"  Father  conceded.  "Probably  they 
do  it  better  now  than  they  did  in  the  days  of  'Ten 
Nights  in  a  Barroom." 

So  Ranny  made  his  way  back  to  school,  clutching 
267 


RANNY 

his  ticket  nervously.  Once  when  he  saw  a  rough- 
looking  man  on  the  walk  ahead  he  sidled  across  the 
street. 

Mrs.  B.  Hubbard  Smitherson  had  shown  knowl 
edge  of  juvenile  psychology  when  she  got  out  those 
tickets  which  gave  to  their  possessors  an  exaggerated 
idea  of  the  value  of  the  entertainment.  A  mere  in 
vitation  to  the  lecture  would  not  have  competed 
with  the  attractions  of  outdoor  life.  Even  with  the 
"admit  one"  pasteboards  in  their  pockets  the  boys 
of  Ranny's  class  began  to  weaken  as  they  approached 
the  place  of  moral  uplift.  Ted  Blake  was  the  first 
to  fall  by  the  wayside. 

"Aw,  come  on,"  he  said;  "le's  don't  go  to  the  old 
thing.  Le's  play  ball." 

Several  lukewarm  enemies  of  the  liquor  traffic 
joined  Ted  in  the  pursuit  of  worldly  pleasure.  As 
the  diminished  band  neared  Fireman's  Hall  (more 
familiarly  known  as  "the  hose-house")  Bud  Hicks 
discovered  that  the  storage-yard  of  the  foundry 
contained  a  rusty  sheet-iron  tank  of  unknown 
origin.  It  was  dilapidated  and  evidently  designed 
for  the  melting-pot,  and  it  suggested  to  Bud  his 
favorite  diversion.  He  picked  up  a  stone  and  with 
characteristic  accuracy  caused  the  thing  to  give  out 
an  enjoyable  clang.  Competition  sprang  up  and 
there  was  some  more  or  less  justified  boasting,  with 
the  result  that  Ranny's  party  lost  several  more  lively 

268 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

spirits.  "Fatty"  Hartman,  being  a  notably  poor 
stone-thrower,  held  a  low  opinion  of  this  sport  and 
stayed  with  the  young  crusaders;  Clarence  Raleigh 
added  to  the  number,  if  not  to  the  prestige,  of  the 
little  band;  the  fourth  was  Tom  Rucker,  whom  it 
was  difficult  to  separate  from  Ranny  on  any  pre 
text. 

At  the  entrance  to  Fireman's  Hall  there  was  a 
most  disconcerting  scene.  A  number  of  ladies  were 
entering  the  hall,  also  girls  in  distressing  quantity. 
Clarence  was  pounced  upon  and  taken  inside  by  his 
own  mother,  who  did  not  regard  the  human  race 
as  suitable  society  for  her  son  unless  she  was  present. 
On  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd  stood  a  number  of  boys, 
staring  and  scratching  their  knees,  but  not  com 
mitting  themselves  to  any  line  of  action. 

The  sight  of  so  many  ladies  filled  Tom  Rucker  with 
foreboding. 

"Mebbe  they  will  get  up  a  entertainment,"  he 
said,  pessimistically.  Fond  as  Tom  was  of  providing 
personal  enjoyment  to  his  fellow-boy,  he  had  a  great 
dread  of  the  formal  affair  managed  by  adults. 

"I  don't  wanta  speak  a  piece,"  said  "Fatty" 
Hartman,  who  had  ruined  many  Friday-afternoon 
exercises  by  his  inability  to  remember  farther  than 
the  third  line. 

Ranny  shared  these  fears,  but  the  ticket  in  his 
pocket  cried  out  to  be  used.  He  had  won  his  per- 

269 


RANNY 

mission  to  go  and  felt  in  honor  bound  to  do  so. 
"Fatty"  lost  his  nerve  and  joined  the  periphery  of 
starers  and  scratchers,  which  presently,  as  by  a 
popular  movement,  faded  away.  But  Tom  still 
hung  fire. 

"Come  on  in,"  said  Ranny.     "Who's  afraid?" 

"They's  a  nawful  lot  of  wimmen." 

"They's  men,  too."  Ranny  had  reference  to  two 
ministers  and  old  Mr.  Jennings,  who  never  lost  an 
opportunity  to  show  his  disrespect  for  King  Alcohol. 
There  was  also  Sim  Coley,  but  it  was  hardly  fair  to 
count  him,  because  as  janitor  of  the  hose-house  and 
the  hall  above  his  attendance  was  compulsory.  If 
common  report  was  correct,  Mr.  Coley  had  no  place 
in  a  temperance  meeting  except,  perhaps,  as  Exhibit 
A.  Lem  White,  who  worked — though  not  exces 
sively — in  the  livery-stable,  and  who  usually  jousted 
with  Coley  at  checkers  in  the  late  afternoon,  was 
eloquently  absent.  Tom,  upon  a  sudden  inspiration, 
approached  the  janitor  for  enlightenment. 

"What's  this  here  thing  gonta  be,  Mr.  Coley?" 
he  asked. 

Sim  spoke  confidentially  through  the  side  of  his 
mouth:  "Don't  ast  me;  I  s'pose  they're  goin'  to 
throw  the  harpoon  into  the  demon  rum.  These 
W.  X.  Y.  Z.'s  makes  me  tired — a  hunderd  an'  fifty 
chairs!" 

This  speech  had  opposite  effects  upon  the  two 
27° 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

hesitators.  Tom  forthwith  abandoned  his  crony  and 
decided  that  if  he  did  not  go  home  and  pile  that 
wood  he  would  get  "a  nawful  whalin'."  Ranny,  on 
the  other  hand,  got  a  vague  impression  of  fancy 
harpoon-throwing,  with  Mrs.  B.  Hubbard  Smither- 
son  in  the  leading  role.  So  they  parted  reluctantly. 
Ranny  climbed  the  stairs,  surrendered  his  ticket,  and 
sought  an  inconspicuous  place  at  the  rear  of  the  hall. 

But  he  had  reckoned  without  his  hostess.  An 
energetic  and  able-bodied  middle-aged  lady  saw  him 
and  called  out: 

"Come  right  down  here,  young  man.  We  want 
all  the  children  in  front." 

As  he  had  never  seen  this  lady  before,  he  knew 
that  she  was  Mrs.  B.  Hubbard  Smitherson,  the 
prominent  harpoonist.  The  children,  he  noted  with 
dismay,  consisted  entirely  of  girls;  even  Clarence 
Raleigh,  as  little  help  as  he  was  in  times  of  peril, 
was  seated  back  a  little  farther  with  his  mother,  a 
number  of  vacant  chairs  intervening  between  him  and 
his  fellow-man.  Ranny  squirmed  in  his  feminine 
environment;  there  was  no  hope  of  escape,  for  he 
was  pinned  down  by  Mrs.  Smitherson's  eye. 

The  entertainment  was  almost  a  total  loss.  Out 
side  in  the  sunshine  normal  persons  were  playing  ball 
and  throwing  stones  at  tanks  while  he  was  listening 
to  a  prayer  by  the  brick-church  minister,  to  some 
remarks  by  Mr.  Jennings,  who  lived  across  the  street 

271 


RANNY 

from  Ranny  and  could  be  heard  at  any  time,  and 
finally  to  a  long  address  by  Mrs.  Smitherson.  Her 
harpoons,  alas,  were  purely  verbal.  What  she  said 
about  the  demon  rum  was  no  news  to  Ranny;  he 
had  always  held  a  low  opinion  of  drink.  And  the 
lecture's  sole  claim  to  the  adjective  "illustrated" 
consisted  of  some  charts  showing  the  effect  of  alcohol 
upon  the  human  frame.  Mrs.  Smitherson's  remarks 
were  largely  long-distance  shells  screaming  over  the 
front  ranks  and  bursting  among  the  adults  behind, 
but  now  and  then  she  took  pot-shots  at  the  children. 
When,  for  example,  the  chart  showed  a  cross-section 
of  a  drunkard's  liver  she  asked : 

"What  little  boy  or  girl  would  like  to  grow  up  and 
have  a  liver  like  that?" 

This  was  not  a  call  for  volunteers,  but,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  picture  in  question  was  the  most  lively 
and  interesting  thing  in  the  entertainment,  much 
brighter  and  more  attractive  than  the  colorless 
teetotaler's  liver  which  immediately  followed  it. 

The  exercises  concluded  with  the  organization  of 
' '  The  Cold-Water  League  of  Lakeville. ' '  Mrs.  Smith 
erson  said,  with  what  passed  among  the  adults  as 
humor,  that  a  city  with  such  a  name  ought  to  support 
a  flourishing  cold-water  league.  At  once  two  minis 
ters,  Mr.  Jennings,  and  a  number  of  good  ladies 
joined  the  league  and  pledged  themselves  to  abstain 
from  alcohol  in  any  form.  Especial  attention  was 

272 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

now  directed  to  the  rising  generation.  The  girls, 
shyly  and  not  without  giggling,  were  all  mustered  in ; 
Clarence  Raleigh  submitted  without  a  struggle  and 
was  led  to  total  abstinence  by  his  natural  guardian. 
Ranny,  conscious  of  the  danger  of  being  enlisted  in 
entertainments,  hung  back  until  the  girls  began  to 
look  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  public  reproach. 

"I  believe  our  little  friend  down  there  has  not  yet 
signed,"  said  Mrs.  B.  Hubbard  Smitherson.  "I  am 
sure  he  does  not  wish  to  grow  up  and  be  a  drunkard." 

Thus  cornered,  Ranny  joined  the  league  and 
pledged  himself  to  a  life  of  sobriety. 

"When  we  adjourn,"  said  the  lecturer,  "I  shall 
give  out  the  ribbons.  I  hope  each  and  every  one 
will  take  a  copy  of  the  pledge  and  get  signatures  from 
their  friends.  We  want  the  children  especially  en 
listed  in  this  fight.  Therefore  I  am  glad  to  announce 
that  the  boy  or  girl  who  gets  the  largest  number  of 
signers  between  now  and  our  meeting  next  week  will 
receive" — Mrs.  Smitherson  paused  for  rhetorical 
effect — "a  cash  prize  of  one  dollar!" 

Clarence  Raleigh  made  a  rising  motion,  but  im 
mediately  subsided  as  from  a  pull  on  the  coat-tail. 
It  was  one  thing,  apparently,  to  abstain  from  in 
ebriety,  and  quite  another  to  circulate  freely  among 
the  masses.  A  number  of  girls,  however,  accepted 
positions  as  enlisting  officers.  Ranny  might  have 
escaped  from  the  room  at  this  time,  but  he  was 

273 


RANNY 

stunned  by  the  magnificence  of  the  prize  offer,  and 
before  he  recovered  the  power  of  motion  one  of  the 
papers  had  been  forced  upon  him.  Presently  he 
found  himself  in  the  open  air,  pledged  to  abstinence 
and,  what  was  worse,  under  bonds  to  secure  signa 
tures  from  a  generation  of  scoffers. 

Almost  the  first  person  he  saw  was  Tom  Rucker, 
who  was  engaged  in  a  meritorious  attempt  to  hang 
upon  a  lamp-post  without  the  use  of  his  hands. 

"I  thought  you  had  to  pile  wood,"  said  Ranny, 
scornfully. 

Tom  unwound  his  legs  and  drew  near.  "How  was 
it?"  he  asked.  "I  bet  it  was  no  good." 

"It  was,  too!  It  was  fine.  They  had  a  drunk 
ard's  liver  an' — an'  ever'thing." 

"I  bet  they're  gonta  have  a  entertainment,  said 
Tom,  hopefully. 

Ranny  treated  himself  to  a  hearty  laugh  over  his 
friend's  ignorance.  "Don't  you  know  anything?" 
he  asked. 

"What  do  ya  have  to  do?" 

"Nothin';  only  git  names  on  this  here" — Ranny 
fumbled  in  his  jacket  pocket — "this  here  thing." 

Tom  examined  the  document  with  studious  care. 
"What's  it  for?"  he  asked. 

"Can't  you  understand  plain  printin'?"  Ranny 
began  to  read  aloud:  "The  undersig — undersiggen — 
I  'ain't  got  no  time  now.  I  gotta  git  somebody  to 

274 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

put  their  name  down  first" — guile  crept  into  his 
heart — "'Fatty'  or  somebody." 

"Why  should  his  name  be  first?  He's  a  rotten 
writer,"  said  Tom,  swallowing  the  bait  eagerly. 

"Well,"  said  Ranny,  judicially,  "nobody  don't 
hafta  speak  a  piece  or  anything.  Only  promise 
not  to  drink  and  join  the  Cold- Water  Company. 
What  '11  you  give  me  to  let  you  put  your  name 
down  first?" 

"What  '11  ya  take?"  Thus  all  transactions  began 
in  the  society  in  which  these  persons  moved.  The 
privilege  of  leading  the  Cold- Water  League  was 
finally  knocked  down  to  Tom  for  an  artificial  red 
rose  which  had  a  pin  concealed  inside  as  a  substitute 
for  fragrance.  This  had  been  a  desirable  property 
to  start  with,  but  had  lately  declined  in  value  because 
all  the  foolable  had  now  been  fooled. 

"Ya  could  use  it  on  some  greenhorn  from  the 
country,"  said  Tom,  "and  have  fun." 

He  put  his  name  close  to  the  printing  so  that 
nobody  could  crowd  in  above  him.  On  his  way 
home  to  supper  Ranny  went  around  by  the  Hartman 
home  and  found  the  person  he  wanted  to  see  out 
sprinkling  the  dusty  street  with  a  hose.  He  put  the 
proposition  to  "Fatty,"  emphasizing  the  immunity 
from  piece-speaking.  Somehow  he  managed  to  con 
vey  the  idea  that  this  was  a  kind  of  insurance  policy 
against  recitations, 

275 


RANNY 

"What  '11  you  give  me  to  let  you  put  your  name 
next — under  Tom's?" 

The  corpulent  one  saw  through  this  flimsy  device 
and  met  it  with  an  equally  dishonest  proposal. 

"I'll  let  you  sprinkle  here  f'r" — he  struggled  as 
against  a  too-generous  nature — "f'r  fifteen  minutes." 

"All  right — give  'er  here."  The  hose  was  ex 
changed  for  the  paper  and  pencil-stub,  and  "Fatty," 
under  his  baptismal  name,  became  a  "W.  X.  Y.  Z." 
He  then  stayed  about,  giving  helpful  advice  to 
amateur  sprinklers.  "Here — not  like  that,"  he  said 
in  an  unguarded  moment;  "let  me  show  you." 

"  'Fraid  I  gotta  go  home,"  said  Ranny,  once  freed 
from  the  burden  of  holding  the  nozzle. 

On  his  way  he  considered  the  advisability  of  getting 
Father  to  sign,  but  put  it  over  as  unfinished  business. 
He  could  get  Father  at  any  time;  why  waste  a  de 
sirable  position  high  on  the  roll  ?  He  decided  not  to 
say  anything  about  the  dollar — better  let  that  be  a 
surprise  if  he  got  it — but  he  showed  the  paper  to  his 
parents  at  supper. 

"I  am  glad,"  said  Father,  "that  Tom  and  'Fatty' 
have  decided  upon  the  strait  and  narrow  way." 

"I'll  get  a  lot  more  signers  to-morrow."  The 
thing  did  not  seem  so  distasteful  to  Ranny  now. 
If  he  could  continue  selling  off  the  positions  on  the 
paper,  perhaps  he  could  make  something  of  an  in 
dustry  of  it,  aside  from  the  prize, 

276 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

But  the  collection  of  pledges  on  the  following  day 
proved  more  difficult  than  he  had  expected;  before 
noon  stock  in  the  "water  company"  had  taken  a  de 
cided  slump.  Bud  Hicks  declined  to  give  any  valu 
able  consideration  for  the  third  place  on  the  roll, 
in  fact  was  with  difficulty  persuaded  to  come  in  free. 
Ranny  was  compelled  to  take  in  several  more  pro 
hibitionists  on  this  unprofitable  basis.  In  the  face 
of  a  falling  market  he  tackled  Ted  Blake  at  the  noon 
hour.  Ted  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  a  master 
in  assorted  wickedness  and  did  not  propose  to  sign 
away  this  prestige  lightly. 

"Do  you  wanta  grow  up  a  drunkard,"  asked 
Ranny,  appealing  to  the  better  side  of  Ted's  nature, 
"an'  have  a  liver  like  Sim  Coley's?" 

Ted  did  not  seem  to  shudder  much  at  this  pros 
pect;  but  in  the  end  he  sold  his  birthright  for  that 
prickly  rose.  For  the  first  time  shares  in  the  Cold- 
Water  Company  sold  below  par. 

In  the  afternoon,  conquering  a  sex  prejudice  in  the 
interest  of  the  larger  good,  Ranny  pulled  the  pigtail 
that  depended  over  his  desk  and  invited  Josie  Kendal 
to  abstain  from  the  flowing  bowl.  Josie  looked  over 
his  collection  of  reformed  criminals  without  en 
thusiasm. 

"I  don't  want  to  put  my  name  down  with  them," 
she  said  in  part.  Before  this  interview  ended  (by 
the  teacher's  request)  it  became  clear  that  he  could 

277 


RANNY 

not  make  any  headway  among  the  girls  of  the  class; 
they  would  sign  up  with  their  own  kind.  Fortu 
nately  this  rule  worked  both  ways. 

"I  bet,"  he  said  to  one  recalcitrant,  "you  wrote 
y'r  name  down  f'r  some  girl." 

The  accused  signed  the  pledge  in  defense  of  his 
character,  and  Ranny  used  this  blackmailing  device 
three  times  before  it  was  worn  out. 

But  if  girls  were  not  in  his  province,  what  about 
adults?  It  was  Friday  afternoon  before  he  could 
nerve  himself  to  crossing  the  great  gulf.  He  would 
make  one  test  case  and  govern  himself  by  the  result ; 
it  had  better  be  a  woman,  and  it  must  be  some  one 
who  had  not  been  present  at  the  last  meeting. 
Finally  he  decided  upon  Miss  Barrows,  the  "maiden 
lady"  who  lived  in  the  little  cottage  where  there  were 
so  many  flowers  and  whitewashed  stones.  Miss 
Barrows  was  of  a  genial  disposition  and  sometimes 
gave  a  person  cookies;  if  she  refused  to  give  up 
liquor  she  would  at  least  not  commit  assault.  Yet 
somehow  as  he  entered  Miss  Barrows's  gate  the 
hand  that  held  the  paper  trembled  a  little.  At 
such  a  time  of  nervous  tension  it  is  fatal  to  en 
counter  any  deviation  from  the  set  program, 
so  when  he  was  only  half  -  way  up  the  stone- 
bordered  path  and  the  door  opened  and  Miss  Bar 
rows  called  out  a  cherry  welcome,  he  was  com 
pletely  demoralized. 

278 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

"Well,  Ranny,  this  is  a  pleasure,"  she  said. 
"What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

In  terror  of  the  deed  he  had  to  do,  he  thrust  the 
paper  behind  him. 

"Miss  Barrows,"  he  said,  and  gulped  twice, 
"h-h-have  you  seen  anything  of — of  my  guinea-pig?" 

"Why,  no,  dear.     Did  it  run  away?" 

"I  thought  mebbe — •  Well,  goo'-by."  Ranny  re 
treated  in  poor  order  down  the  path.  Thus  ended 
the  crusade  among  the  adults.  Better  lose  the  prize 
twenty  times  over  than  go  through  this  sort  of  thing 
again. 

Except,  of  course,  Father.  But  it  developed  that 
Father  had  two  deep,  if  somewhat  conflicting,  preju 
dices:  one  was  against  drink  and  the  other  was 
against  pledges. 

"I  don't  need  to  sign  any  paper  to  keep  myself 
straight,"  he  said.  "Of  course  it's  different  with 
these  rough  characters" — indicating  the  names  on 
Ranny 's  list.  "Perhaps  Mother  might  be  persuaded 
to  lead  a  better  life." 

Mother  laughed  and  agreed  to  sign  anything  within 
reason ;  her  only  protest  was  against  the  unsanitary, 
chewed-up  pencil  provided  by  the  management. 

In  the  morning  Ranny,  with  his  weekly  ten  cents 

secure  in  his  hand  and  his  hand  secure  in  his  pocket 

and  a  fine  new  plan  in  his  mind,  started  for  Mrs. 

Leonard's  little  store.     There,  after  research,  he  in- 

19  279 


RANNY 

vested  his  entire  capital  in  jelly-beans,  hard  outside 
and  gummy  within. 

"Well,  you  are  rich  this  morning,"  said  the  store 
keeper. 

Ranny  usually  wasted  his  substance  on  the  in 
stalment  plan. 

"I  need  a  lotta  beans,"  he  replied. 

This  was  not  self-indulgence,  but  investment;  the 
jelly-bean  was  the  smallest  standard  of  value  pro 
vided  by  Mrs.  Leonard's  mint.  He  now  took  his 
way  toward  "Frogtown."  As  he  approached  that 
place  of  youthful  congestion  he  saw  a  clump  of  boys 
expressing  their  opinions  at  the  edge  of  the  marsh. 
Taking  one  of  the  beans  out  of  the  bag  he  munched 
it  publicly  and  was  immediately  surrounded.  Ranny 
gave  out  nothing  but  smacks. 

"Um-m!  pretty  good,"  he  said,  and  added,  as  if 
suddenly  stricken  with  an  idea :  "I  tell  you.  Every 
fella  that  signs  this  here  thing  gits  a  bean." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  a  cautious  "Frogtowner." 

"It's  nothin'.  You  don't  hafta  speak  pieces  or 
anything.  You  git  a  ribbon  free — but  you  don't 
hafta  wear  it;  you  could  keep  it  in  your  pocket." 

"Yeah,  but  what  is  it?" 

A  valuable  thought  came  to  Ranny.  "Here,  read 
it  your  own  self."  He  consumed  another  bean  with 
histrionic  enjoyment. 

Unwilling  to  admit  that  this  wilderness  of  words 

280 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

meant  nothing  to  him,  the  skeptic  fell  back  upon 
barter. 

"I'll  sign  it  f'r  three  beans." 

"Yeah,  I  guess  you  will!     Think  I'm  rich?" 

In  the  end,  visible  "Frogtown"  renounced  the 
wine-cup  at  the  rate  of  two  beans  per  head.  Equal 
suffrage  prevailed  and  Mary  Murray  sold  her  vote 
at  regular  rates.  Furthermore,  Mary  proposed  to 
enter  her  infant  brother,  John,  who  was  acting  dis 
orderly  on  behalf  of  beans.  Ranny  had  no  precedent 
for  accepting  the  proxies  of  uneducated  people,  but 
agreed  to  pay  one  bean  in  advance  for  whatever 
John  might  do  personally.  The  infant  was  given 
the  pencil  and  amid  universal  snickering  achieved  a 
signature  that  consisted  of  a  hole  in  the  paper,  a  tear 
drop,  and  a  line  that  began  life  as  a  corkscrew  and 
later  ran  fast  and  loose  among  the  names  above. 
John  fell  in  love  with  the  new  sport ;  it  took  another 
bean  to  get  him  to  stop  signing  the  pledge. 

When  night  terminated  Ranny 's  activities  he  had 
in  all  twenty-four  signatures,  not  counting  the  in 
appropriate  corkscrew.  On  the  following  day  he 
added  three  names  from  his  Sunday-school  class,  the 
teacher  being  among  those  who  mounted  the  water- 
wagon.  From  this  time  on  things  went  more  slowly. 
The  secret  of  the  dollar  prize  was  now  generally 
known  and  those  still  unregenerate  were  holding  out 
for  ruinous  prices. 

281 


RANNY 

On  Wednesday,  when  the  Cold- Water  League  as 
sembled  in  convention,  Ranny  had  thirty  names 
upon  his  paper.  But  he  had  done  more  than  secure 
pledges;  he  had  also  press-agented  the  meeting  with 
subtle  skill.  They  would  be  surprised  at  what  was 
going  to  happen,  he  said,  darkly.  He  did  not  origi 
nate — though  he  took  no  pains  to  put  at  rest — the 
rumor  that  some  pleasing  atrocity  would  be  com 
mitted  upon  Sim  Coley.  Nobody  claimed  to  believe 
that  Mr.  Coley  would  be  vivisected  to  make  a  Lake- 
ville  holiday,  but  when,  just  before  the  meeting 
opened,  he  stepped  to  the  speaker's  table  with  a 
pitcher  of  that  liquid  which  is  so  useful  for  putting 
out  fires,  he  met  with  the  surprise  of  his  life.  It  was 
nothing  short  of  an  ovation.  From  Ranny 's  solid 
block  of  alcohol-fighters  came  one  triumphant  blast 
of  approval.  Ted  Blake  was  so  carried  away  by  his 
feelings  that  he  whistled  upon  two  fingers.  When 
the  retreating  janitor  looked  violently  upon  his  ad 
mirers,  their  enthusiasm  broke  all  bonds;  girls  and 
adults  joined  ignorantly  in  the  applause. 

Mrs.  B.  Hubbard  Smitherson,  who  was  now  ap 
proaching  the  platform,  mistook  the  purport  of  this 
demonstration  and  flushed  with  pleasure. 

"I  am  very  glad,"  she  said, "to  see  such  a  large  and 
enthusiastic  gathering  and  so  many  boys  enlisted  in 
the  fight  against  rum." 

How  different  this  was,  Ranny  thought,  from  last 
283 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

week,  with  the  place  full  of  girls  and  all  the  best 
people  outdoors  throwing  stones  at  tanks !  Presently 
it  was  time  to  see  who  had  secured  the  greatest 
number  of  pledges;  Mr.  Jennings  and  the  two 
ministers  were  asked  to  be  an  auditing  committee, 
because  of  the  superiority  of  the  male  mind  in 
statistics.  The  result  was  apparent  to  the  auditors 
as  soon  as  they  had  opened  the  papers.  It  is  true 
that  Gertie  Riley  had  made  a  brave  showing  by 
running  wild  among  the  large  Riley  relationship, 
but  the  efforts  of  the  girls  were  scattering,  while 
Ranny  had  all  the  boys  there  were.  Mr.  Jennings 
announced  that  the  greatest  number  of  signatures 
(not  counting  one  which  they  had  been  unable  to 
decipher)  had  been  secured  by  his  young  friend  and 
neighbor,  Randolph  Dukes.  Ranny 's  crowd  re 
sponded  with  boisterous,  if  self-interested,  cheers. 

Mrs.  Smitherson  now  with  dramatic  effect  pro 
duced  a  bright  silver  dollar  and  presented  it  to 
Ranny  with  remarks,  complimentary  to  him,  but 
predicting  a  dismal  future  for  John  Barleycorn. 

"Now,"  she  said,  when  Ranny  had  regained  his 
place  at  the  end  of  the  row  and  was  permitting 
privileged  neighbors  brief  glimpses  of  his  wealth, 
"now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  great  secret.  For 
our  campaign  to  drive  the  dram  -  shop  out  of 
Lakeville  we  must  first  raise  money.  To  do  this 
we  are  going  to  have — guess" — Mrs.  B.  Hubbard 

283 


RANNY 

Smitherson's  face  broke  into  an  arch  smile — "an 
entertainment." 

There  was  a  clapping  of  hands — weak,  girlish 
hands,  restrained  adult  hands.  Ranny's  blood  froze 
solid,  his  heart  stopped  beating,  his  interior  collapsed 
into  a  heap  of  ruins.  Presently  he  realized  that  Tom 
Rucker  was  laying  violent  hands  upon  him. 

"I  thought  you  said  they  wasn't  goin'  to  be  no 
entertainment. " 

Ranny  could  not  think  of  the  answer  to  this,  so 
he  grabbed  his  cap  and  fled,  Tom  at  his  heels, 
"Fatty"  Hartman  at  Tom's,  apparently  all  the  rest 
of  society  at  "Fatty's."  They  came  roaring  and 
clattering  down  the  narrow  stairway  demanding 
their  toll  of  human  life.  Out  upon  the  sidewalk  they 
poured,  whirling  about  Ranny  in  an  angry  eddy, 
catching  up  Janitor  Coley  and  tossing  him  about 
like  a  cork. 

"They  didn't  tell  me!"  cried  Ranny.  "She  said 
it  was  a  secrut,  didn't  she?  What  're  you  pickin' 
on  me  for?  Come  on " — this  in  desperation — le's  git 
sumpin'  good." 

Anger  died  and  hunger  was  born;  Ranny  was  in 
almost  as  much  bodily  danger  from  one  as  from  the 
other.  Two  speed  records  were  shattered  that  after 
noon — a  meeting  was  broken  up  while  Mrs.  B. 
Hubbard  Smitherson  was  taking  two  gasps  and 
Alleston's  staple  and  fancy  grocery  changed  from  a 

284 


THE    INTEMPERATE    ZONE 

sleepy  calm  to  a  typhoon  while  James  B.  Alleston, 
Prop.,  was  taking  his  feet  off  of  the  ledger. 

Not  until  the  prize  money  had  melted  away  and 
nature  was  bathed  in  the  mellow  light  of  sunset  was 
Ranny's  debt  of  honor  canceled.  Then  the  party 
broke  up  and  the  zone  of  sticky  cheeks  and  tired 
jaws  widened  out  over  Lakeville  as  waves  from  a 
stone  dropped  in  the  water.  Ranny,  who  had 
treated  himself  throughout  with  justice  tempered 
with  generosity,  now  ate  his  way  homeward,  finding 
pleasant  little  surprises  in  out-of-the-way  pockets. 
At  the  supper-table  he  showed  a  distaste  for  common 
place  viands. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  appetite,  dear?" 
Mother  asked. 

"I'm  not  feeling  so  very  hungry,"  Ranny  replied. 
"I  must  have  eat  something." 

At  the  Dukes  home  there  was  a  panacea  for  all  ail 
ments — coughs,  colds,  loss  of  appetite,  and  mis 
conduct:  Ranny,  against  his  better  judgment,  went 
to  bed.  At  nine  Father  came  in  to  see  whether  he 
was  all  right  and  found  him  still  awake. 

"Mr.  Jennings  was  over  a  while  ago,"  said  Father. 
"He  told  us  that  you  got  a  dollar  prize  and  then 
broke  up  the  meeting.  What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"I  promised  the  boys  if  they  would  write  their 
name  they  wouldn't  be  no  entertainment.  Mis' 
Smitherson  said  now  they's  goin'  to  be  a  entertain- 

285 


RANNY 

ment  and  they  was  mad  an'  picked  on  me  an'  ever'- 
thing.  So  we  bought  some  candy — an'  cookies — an' 
some  raisins." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"An'  a  couple  of  bananas  an'  prunes." 

"Is  dial  all?" 

"Yes,  that's  all,  'cept  peanuts  an'  buttered  pop 
corn.  An'  a  few  pickles." 

"How  much  did  you  spend  of  your  dollar?" 

"Pert  near  all — but  what's  in  my  pocket." 

An  inventory  of  Ranny's  clothing  showed  a  piece 
of  taffy  that  seemed  to  be  there  for  good,  two  cents, 
and  part  of  a  peanut  shell. 

"Well,  you  have  been  on  a  tear."  For  a  moment 
Father  seemed  amused  at  something,  then  became 
very  sober. 

' '  Do  you  know  what  the  word  temperance  means?" 

There  was  a  light  step  at  the  bedroom  door  and 
Father  turned  his  head. 

"Come  on  in,  Mother,"  he  said.  "Have  you  got 
a  ticket?  There's  going  to  be  a  lecture  by  Thomas 
Dukes,  the  wagon-maker,  upon  the  evils  of  in 
temperance." 


XV 

DAY   OF   WRATH 

A  NOTHER  summer  was  half  gone. 
/~\  The  reign  of  the  dog-star  was  heavy  upon 
the  dusty  town,  and  the  barefoot  citizens  who  were 
mistreating  Mr.  Webber's  outer  lawn  were  racked 
with  discord.  It  was  too  hot  to  fare  forth  out  of  the 
maple-tree  oasis,  and  all  sedentary  occupations  had 
been  used  up.  Mumble-peg  had  collapsed  under 
quarrels,  the  mild  pleasure  of  whistling  upon  grass - 
blades  held  between  the  thumbs  had  lost  its  flavor, 
and  blowing  dandelion  seeds  to  see  whether  your 
mother  wanted  you  was  abandoned  because  the 
thing  kept  coming  out  wrong.  "Fatty"  Hartman, 
without  lifting  his  head,  spoke  vaguely  of  finding 
some  sour-grass  to  eat.  Tom  Rucker  wished  that  the 
street  were  the  lake,  but  he  was  sharply  informed 
that  if  you  went  swimming  in  dog-days  you  would 
get  sick  and  die. 

"You  would  not." 

"You  would,  too.     I  betcha  a  million  dollars,"  said 
Bud  Hicks. 

287 


RANNY 

"Yeah,  you  'ain't  got  a  million  dollars." 

And  so  the  talk  went  sliding  down  the  intellectual 
plane  until  all  hands  were  feebly  discussing  what 
they  would  do  if  they  had  a  million  dollars. 

"I'd  put  it  in  the  haymow,"  said  Bud,  "an*  ever' 
time  I  needed  some  candy— 

"You  couldn't  get  a  million  dollars  in  a  hay 
mow."  This  ill-natured  objection  was  made  by 
Ted  Blake. 

"You  could,  too!" 

"Could  not!" 

If  Ted  Blake  and  Bud  Hicks  had  stood  upon  their 
heads  then  and  there  the  value  of  the  assets  falling 
from  their  pockets  would  not  have  exceeded  three 
cents,  yet,  so  irritating  was  the  weather  and  so 
frazzled  the  state  of  the  public  nerves,  they  fell  to 
fighting  over  the  possibility  of  getting  a  million 
dollars  into  a  haymow.  The  dog-star  must  have 
snickered  upon  his  throne.  In  the  discussion  Bud 
fell  underneath,  and  Ted's  economic  theories  were 
marching  on  to  victory  when  he  felt  the  sharp  point 
as  of  a  parasol  sticking  into  his  ribs.  He  looked  up 
into  the  strong  and  intelligent  face  of  Mrs.  Thompson. 

"What's  all  this  fighting  about?" 

Mrs.  Thompson  was  built  upon  a  rather  generous 
plan,  and  her  question  had  an  official  sound  as  some 
thing  coming  from  the  court-house.  The  belligerents 
only  glared  at  each  other,  so  the  labor  of  explanation 

288 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


fell  upon  that  innocent  bystander  and  knee-scratcher, 
Randolph  Harrington  Dukes. 

"We're  all  the  time  fighting,"  said  Ranny, 
gloomily.  "Whenever  we  try  to  have  a  little  fun 
we  get  into  fights." 

If  Mrs.  Thompson  had  not  herself  piloted  two 
youths  through  potential  homicide  to  law-abiding 
manhood  she  might  have  said  that  it  was  wicked  to 
fight  and  that  little  children  should  love  one  another 
— and  gone  her  righteous  way,  leaving  Ted  and  Bud 
to  resume  their  cat-and-dog  life  at  leisure.  But 
Mrs.  Thompson  was  a  practical  idealist  as  well  as  a 
lover  of  peace.  So  she  addressed  Ranny,  choosing 
her  words  carefully,  as  one  opening  a  new  chapter  of 
history. 

"I  know  a  good  plan.  All  you  boys  club  together 
and  agree  to  this:  whenever  two  of  you  have  any 
trouble,  wait  a  certain  length  of  time.  Then  if  you 
still  feel  that  you  have  to  fight — why,  fight." 

"You  mean,  get  up  a  kind  of  a  club?"  asked 
Ranny,  who  had  lately  acquired  a  taste  for  holding 
office. 

Mrs.  Thompson  belonged  to  that  class  of  people 
who  conceive  of  conversation  as  an  intermittent 
monologue.  She  answered  questions,  if  at  all,  only 
when  time  hung  heavy  upon  her  hands. 

"I  think  ten  days  would  be  about  right,"  she  said. 

Ted  Blake  was  the  first  to  catch  her  meaning. 
289 


RANNY 

"Too  long,"  he  muttered,  with  a  covert  glance  at  his 
half-licked  enemy. 

"We  will  call  it  the  Friends  of  Peace,"  continued 
Mrs.  Thompson.  "I  can  get  the  badges." 

"What  would  we  have  to  do?"  asked  "Fatty" 
Hartman,  the  prominent  recliner. 

"Well,  good-by,  boys.  I'll  let  you  know  when  the 
buttons  come." 

"I  don't  know  if  we—" 

"I  think  blue-and-white  would  be  nice."  Mrs. 
Thompson's  farewell  address  not  only  cut  Ranny 
down  in  the  midst  of  an  important  remark,  but  also 
left  the  whole  group  more  or  less  wabbly  with  as 
tonishment.  Bud  Hicks,  who  had  passed  away  at 
the  first  appearance  of  the  lady,  now  came  to  life 
and  said: 

"That  wouldn't  be  any  good.     Le's  don't  do— 

His  sentence  found  itself  without  visible  means  of 
support,  for  Ted  Blake  was  making  demonstrations. 

"You  couldn't  belong  if  you  wanted  to,"  said  Ted. 

"What  've  you  got  to  say  to  it?" 

"What  've  I  got  to  say  to  it?  Listen  to  that. 
I'm  goin'  to  be  president.  That's  all  I  got  to  say 
to  it." 

"First  I  heard  of  it,"  replied  Bud,  weakly. 

Ted  indulged  in  his  favorite  practice  of  bunching 
up  his  muscle.  The  sleeve  of  his  shirt  had  been  torn 
in  the  late  unpleasantness,  and  through  this  informal 

290 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


show-window  one  could  see  his  biceps  enjoying  an 
attack  of  cramps.  Ted  was  elected  president  with 
out  a  dissenting — or  assenting — voice. 

"I'll  be  secatary,"  cried  Ranny. 

All  present  now  seized  jobs  by  the  vocal  or  round- 
ball  method,  with  the  result  that  several  ladies  of 
the  neighborhood  came  out  upon  their  front  porches 
and  looked  distressed.  They  would  have  been  sur 
prised  to  hear  the  name  of  the  society  that  was  being 
organized  so  loudly. 

When  everybody,  including  Vice-President  Hicks, 
had  an  office,  it  seemed  fairly  certain  that  there  would 
be  a  club.  Ranny  meditated  upon  his  new  position, 
his  eyes  searching  the  landscape  for  inspiration. 
They  found  it  in  the  sulphur-colored  house  of 
Mr.  Webber,  the  reliable  druggist. 

"Wait  here,"  he  cried.  "I  gotta  get  sumpin'. 
Don't  nobody  go  away." 

He  hurried  off  to  his  own  home  near  by  and  re 
turned  with  a  memorandum-book  and  a  sad-looking 
lead-pencil.  The  book  had  been  lavished  upon  him 
by  Mr.  Webber — hence  the  inspiration.  It  con 
tained  a  number  of  ruled  pages,  a  calendar,  a  list  of 
the  nicknames  of  all  the  States,  and  reading-matter 
indorsing  an  all-healing  medicine,  the  whole  hand 
somely  illustrated  with  pictures  of  ladies  and  gentle 
men  in  pain. 

"This  here  is  the  secatary 's  book/'  To  prove  his 
291 


RANNY 

statement,  Ranny  printed  upon  its  outside  cover, 
"Freinds  of  Peace." 

"What  're  you  goin'  write  in  it?"  asked  "Fatty," 
who  had  secured  the  easy  office  of  assistant  treasurer. 

' '  'S  all  right, ' '  said  Ranny.     ' ' I  know,  all  right. ' ' 

While  he  was  floundering  around  in  a  mental 
vacuum,  trying  to  think  up  something  to  put  in  his 
book,  the  patched-up  peace  between  the  president 
and  vice-president  broke  down.  Ted  maintained 
that  the  vice-president  had  no  rights,  duties,  or 
reason  for  existence.  "I'll  lick  the  stuffin'  outa 
you,"  he  shouted,  with  appropriate  gestures. 

"You  can't  do  that,"  said  Ranny,  earnestly.  "It's 
ag'inst  the  rules  of  the  club.  You  gotta  wait  ten 
days."  He  did  mental  arithmetic  over  the  calendar 
in  his  book.  "That  '11  be  the  twenty-first  of 
August." 

"Aw,  what's  the  matter  with  ya?"  Ted  looked 
around  for  moral  support,  but  did  not  find  any. 
"Well,"  he  conceded,  "I'll  lick  the  stuffin'  outa  ya 
on  the  twenty-first  of  August." 

"All  right.  You  can  do  that."  Ranny  was 
generous  with  other  people's  contents. 

"Yeah,  I'd  like  to  see  you  try,"  said  Bud. 

Here  "Fatty"  fell  a  victim  to  internal  amusement. 

"S'posen  they'd  forgit  they  was  mad  at  each 
other,"  he  chuckled,  "an'  go  aroun'  bein'  good 
friends." 

292 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


It  was  in  this  lowly  quarter  that  Ranny  found  the 
elusive  idea.  "I'll  write  it  down  in  the  book,"  he 
cried.  "What  you  s'pose  the  secatary's  for?  I  got 
to  put  down  all  the  fights." 

The  idea  met  with  instant  approval,  and  Ranny, 
though  not  excessively  muscular,  became  the  central 
figure  of  the  Friends  of  Peace.  In  fact,  it  soon 
looked  as  if  he  were  the  only  friend  that  peace  had 
in  the  world,  for  the  club  members,  anxious  to  make 
use  of  the  new  machinery  of  violence,  promptly 
picked  quarrels  with  one  another  and  had  Ranny 
record  them  in  his  book.  As  time  went  on,  Ranny 
got  into  little  disputes  in  connection  with  his  book 
keeping  duties  and  was  able  to  set  down  a  few  undy 
ing  hatreds  of  his  own.  Mrs.  Thompson  might  have 
chosen  as  the  society's  motto  some  such  sentiment 
as :  "  Stop !  Look !  Listen ! ' '  but  the  unofficial  slogan 
of  the  Friends  of  Peace  was,  "I'll  lick  the  stuffin'  out 
of  you  on  the  twenty-first  of  August." 

A  delightful  feature  of  the  organization  meeting 
was  the  advent  of  Clarence  Raleigh,  arrayed  in  green 
linen,  and  walking  sedately  in  shady  places. 

"Hey,  Clarence!"  shouted  Ted  Blake.  "Want  to 
join  the  peace  club?" 

Clarence  must  have  thought  that  the  dove  of  peace 
had  fallen  into  strange  company,  for  he  backed  up 
against  the  fence  and  asked,  "What  is  it  for?" 

"You  look  like  a  bush,"  said  "Fatty,"  who  was 

293 


RANNY 

punched  to  silence  in  the  interest  of  the  higher 
ridicule. 

"The  objeck  of  the  club,"  announced  Ranny, 
striving  to  be  official,  "is,  if  you  get  mad  at  some 
body  an'  he  says —  Now — you  know — s'posen — " 

"Ya  gotta  wait  ten  days,"  said  Tom  Rucker,  leap 
ing  over  Ranny 's  prostrate  sentence. 

"An'  nobody  must  have  fights,"  said  Ted, 
shrewdly. 

This,  at  least,  seemed  to  convey  some  idea  to 
Clarence. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  he,  "I'll  belong  if  my  mother  will 
let  me." 

Before  the  poor  neophyte  could  collect  his  puzzled 
wits  he  had  contracted  five  engagements  to  have  his 
"stuffin"'  removed  on  the  twenty-first  of  August. 
His  hurried  departure  left  the  pacifists  almost  help 
less  with  mirth. 

"Le's  go  'round  and  git  new  members,"  said  Ted. 
"C'm'on,  ever'body." 

' ' '  Frogtown '  first, ' '  Ranny  yelled.  ' '  They 's  loads 
of  fighters  there." 

So  the  mystified  mothers  of  the  neighborhood  were 
treated  to  the  spectacle  of  a  group  of  boys,  a  short 
time  ago  prostrated  by  the  climate,  running  at  full 
speed  in  the  blazing  sunshine  of  mid-afternoon. 

This  league  to  enforce  peace  swept  through  Lake- 
ville  like  a  tropical  plague — down  narrow  alleys 

294 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


bordered  with  dusty  ragweed,  along  foot-blistering 
board  sidewalks,  over  railroad  ties  broiled  in  oil, 
and  along  the  marsh  road  (with  fine  powder  shooting 
from  beneath  the  feet)  to  where  "Frogtown"  lay 
gasping  in  an  atmosphere  of  wilted  sedges  and  half- 
baked  mud.  ' '  Frogtown ' '  paid  its  toll  of  human  life. 
Even  "Sausage"  Buckley,  once  convinced  of  the 
club's  real  nature,  became  a  Friend  of  Peace  and 
signed  articles  of  enmity  all  around.  Back  of  the 
pickle-works  a  group  of  theoretical  ball-players,  lying 
in  the  shade  of  the  cucumber-shed,  surrendered  in  a 
body.  Out  on  Berry  Street  a  boy  who  was  sprinkling 
the  road  with  a  garden-hose  joined  the  society — 
but  not  until  he  had  drenched  its  officers  in  his 
ignorance  of  the  rules.  The  propaganda  spread  east 
ward  as  far  as  the  home  of  Tug  Wiltshire,  who, 
desperate  for  reading-matter,  was  studying  a  harness- 
maker's  catalogue.  Tug  stopped  improving  his  mind 
long  enough  to  join  the  association  and  make  a 
limited  number  of  appointments  for  the  day  of  wrath. 
His  quarrel  with  Ranny  was  over  the  alleged  mis 
spelling  of  the  word  "Freinds." 

The  proceedings  had  become  crystallized  into  a 
formula;  life  was  one  long  succession  of  crises  and 
resolutions.  Ted  Blake,  accompanied  by  his  secre 
tary,  approached  the  prospective  member,  insulted 
him,  and  was  counter-insulted.  If  it  were  not  for  his 
membership  in  this  club,  Ted  then  pointed  out,  he 
20  295 


RANNY 

would  punish  the  person  then  and  there  for  his 
obnoxious  traits.  Ranny  now  explained  the  object 
of  the  organization,  and  the  new  member's  name,  to 
gether  with  any  atrocities  he  cared  to  have  com 
mitted  upon  him,  were  duly  set  down.  The  minor 
officers  acted  as  spectators,  guards,  and  boasters,  but 
it  was  always  Ted  who  breathed  violence.  Ted's 
friendship  for  peace  was  purely  platonic;  he  was  a 
pacifist  with  the  accent  on  the  fist. 

But  rumors  of  the  new  movement  went  even 
farther  than  its  founders  and  in  a  different  direction. 
They  followed  the  sun  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
West  Ward,  a  region  of  gruff,  two-fisted  people  who 
had  never  heard  the  word  peace.  Inevitably  the 
news  reached  the  ears  of  "Butch"  Willet,  who  was 
spending  the  day  in  the  lake.  Hastening  into  his 
simple  two-piece  costume,  "Butch"  jumped  upon  his 
bicycle  and  before  his  hair  was  dry  encountered  the 
officers  of  the  Friends  of  Peace  returning  from  the 
day's  work. 

' '  Hey,  Blake ! ' '  cried  this  muscular  barbarian.  ' '  I 
heard  you  got  up  a  fight  club.  I'll  belong." 

The  president  had  not  thought  of  "Butch"  in  this 
connection.  In  his  relations  with  the  West-Warder 
Ted  had  been  more  bullied  against  than  bullying. 

"I  don't  know  if  you'd  like  it,"  said  Ted. 

"The  objeck  of  the  club—  It  was  no  time  for 
Ranny 's  set  speech,  for  "Butch"  was  singing  the 

296 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


hymn  of  hate  and  demanding  membership.  Slowly, 
almost  drop  by  drop,  the  idea  was  inserted  into  the 
simple  western  mind  that  the  Friends  of  Peace 
pledged  themselves  to  weak  arbitration  for  ten  days, 
and  that  free  white-and-blue  buttons  depended  upon 
this  provision.  All  made  damaging  remarks  about 
their  club.  A  person  of  a  more  sensitive  nature 
would  have  seen  that  he  was  not  wanted. 

"These  here  rights  can't  be  till  the  twenty-first 
of  August,"  said  Ranny,  displaying  the  archives. 
He  only  wanted  to  show  the  part  he  played  in  the 
club's  affairs,  but  putting  the  thing  into  "Butch's" 
hands  was  a  mistake.  In  a  moment  it  was  clear 
that  this  was  "Butch's"  favorite  book.  His  relish 
of  the  thing  seemed  almost  morbid. 

"Put  me  down  for  fights  with  all  you  fellas" — his 
eye  swept  around  the  circle,  compelling  silence — "I'll 
knock  you  into  the  middle  of  next  week." 

"They  ain't  room  for  any  more  names,"  said 
Ranny.  His  generous  up-hill  hand  and  the  day's 
brisk  trading  had  used  up  all  of  the  writing-space. 

But  "Butch"  swept  away  technicalities  and  com 
pelled  the  secretary  to  set  down  his  fights  on  margins 
and  among  calendars  and  testimonials. 

"You  see  that  fella,"  said  he,  pointing  out  an 
unhappy  person  labeled,  ' ' Before  Taking. "  " That's 
how  Ted  Blake  will  look  when  I  git  through  with 
him." 

297 


RANNY         

"You  think  you're  awful  smart,"  Ted  replied. 
He  actually  said  this  aloud,  but  it  is  a  significant 
fact  that  he  did  not  say  it  until  "Butch"  had 
mounted  his  wheel  and  was  half  a  block  away. 
"What  'd  ya  have  to  go  to  work  an'  show  'im  the 
book  for?" 

"We  don't  hafta  tell  'im  when  we  have  our  fights, 
do  we?"  Ranny  replied. 

"We  could  go  off  somewheres,  if  it's  a  nice  day  an' 
everything,"  suggested  Bud  Hicks. 

"Boggs's  woods,"  said  Tom. 

"Le's  take  our  dinner,"  said  "Fatty." 

Before  they  parted  for  the  night  it  was  agreed 
that,  weather  and  parents  permitting,  an  important 
portion  of  the  human  race  would  abolish  itself  in 
Boggs's  woods  by  the  lake,  with  incidental  swimming 
and  feasting,  on  the  2ist  of  August,  and  that  only 
the  pleasanter  and  less  muscular  people  would  be 
invited.  They  would  tell  their  parents  about  Mrs. 
Thompson,  but  they  would  not  tell  Mrs.  Thompson 
about  the  picnic. 

Through  the  intervening  days  the  pride  of  author 
ship  marched  with  Randolph  Harrington  Dukes. 
The  book  attended  his  gettings-up  and  his  lyings- 
down;  it  went  with  him  about  his  dusty  August 
duties,  a  hip-pocket  library  of  ready  reference.  By 
the  second  day  it  had  lost  its  pristine  beauty,  and 
by  the  fifth,  its  cover.  When  the  fatal  day  ap- 

398 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


preached  it  was  a  stained  and  ragged  bundle.  There 
had  been  no  attempt  to  start  a  new  volume  of  mutual 
dislikes.  If  half  of  the  promises  for  the  2ist  were 
to  be  kept,  history  would  have  nothing  to  do  for 
the  rest  of  time. 

The  parents  of  the  Friends  of  Peace  fell  easy 
victims.  Ranny's  Father  chuckled  a  little,  for  no 
good  reason,  but  any  doubts  Mother  may  have  had 
were  removed  by  a  telephone  talk  with  Mrs.  Thomp 
son.  This  society  was  not  the  first  to  discover  the 
value  of  a  respectable  figurehead. 

The  weather  also  permitted — for  the  2ist  dawned 
fine  and  clear,  a  beautiful  day  for  destruction 
and  desolation — but  to  the  supersensitive  it  might 
have  appeared  that  L.  J.  Boggs  did  not.  At  least 
a  sign  in  his  name  at  the  entrance  to  his  lakeside 
grove  halted  the  dozen  or  more  exclusive  characters, 
laden  with  paper  parcels  and  shoe-boxes,  with  a 
cordial  invitation  not  to  enter,  under  the  penalty  of 
the  law. 

"Aw,  who's  afraid  of  ol'  Boggsy?"  said  Ted  Blake. 
"C'm'on,  le'sgoin." 

Bud  Hicks  showed  how  little  he  trembled  by 
hurling  a  stone  at  the  sign  and  almost  hitting  it. 
So  with  co-operative  bravery  the  society  moved  on 
toward  the  pebbly  shore  of  the  lake.  Clarence 
Raleigh,  though  he  had  been  invited  with  suppressed 
snickers,  had  not  turned  up  at  the  meeting-place. 

299 


RANNY 

Ranny,  impressed  by  the  large  amount  of  work 
the  society  had  before  it,  pulled  out  the  book  of 
ancient  grudges  and  proposed  that  the  exercises  begin 
at  once.  "I'll  read  off  the  names,"  he  said.  "One 
fight  at  a  time." 

"No;  le's  have  our  dinner  first,"  said  "Fatty." 
It  was  already  ten  o'clock  and  "Fatty"  had  taken  no 
nourishment  since  breakfast,  except  three  apples. 

The  Friends  of  Peace  debated  the  question  of 
fighting  vs.  eating,  and  compromised  by  going  swim 
ming  just  east  of  the  no-bathing  sign.  This  was  done 
in  spite  of  Tom  Rucker's  statement  that  all  would 
get  sick  and  die.  Tom  could  argue  brilliantly  on 
either  side  of  this  question. 

"The  first  thing  we  know,"  said  Ranny,  "it  '11 
be  night  an'  we  won't  have  no  time  for  them  fights." 

Nevertheless,  after  a  pleasant  session  in  the 
deadly  waters,  every  one  was  too  hungry  for  hos 
tilities.  After  dinner  there  was  an  era  of  good  feeling 
that  Ranny  found  distressing. 

"I  work  hard  an'  write  down  all  them  names," 
said  Ranny,  "an'  now  nobody  fights.  What  kind 
of  a  club  is  this,  anyhow?" 

"It's  a  peace  club,"  said  "Fatty."  His  remark 
was  greeted  with  the  disdain  which  it  deserved. 

Presently  there  was  a  game  of  catch  with  a  yarn 
ball,  and  three  members  fell  into  the  lake — Tom 
Rucker  purposely,  because  of  his  desire  to  entertain 

300 


DAY    OF    WRATH 


his  fellow-boy.  But  finally  all  excuses  were  ex 
hausted,  and  Ted  Blake  and  Bud  Hicks  were  advised 
to  get  into  a  hostile  frame  of  mind  toward  each 
other.  There  were  to  be  no  rules  to  interfere  with 
the  free  play  of  brutality,  though  up  to  the  last  the 
president  insisted  that  the  vice-president  was  not 
allowed  to  bite  his  ear.  At  this  crucial  point  history, 
after  its  eccentric  fashion,  repeated  itself.  The 
phenomenon  appeared  as  the  sound  of  wheels  and 
Mrs.  Thompson,  driving  her  reliable  family  horse. 
Beside  her,  sitting  in  polite  elegance,  was  discovered 
Clarence  Raleigh.  Clarence  had  adopted  Mrs. 
Thompson  as  a  shield  against  violence.  One  of  the 
chickens  of  the  Friends  of  Peace  had  come  home  to 
roost. 

"Why,  boys!  you're  not  having  a  fight,  I  hope. 
My  goodness!"  Mrs.  Thompson  added,  taking  a 
closer  look  at  the  belligerents,  "Are  you  at  it  yet?" 

"We're — we're  havin'  a  meeting,"  said  Ranny, 
helpfully. 

"Well,  let's  come  to  order."  Mrs.  Thompson 
seated  herself  upon  a  stump.  "Who  is  the  presi 
dent?" 

Ted  Blake  dropped  his  fists  and  took  up  the  duties 
of  his  office.  But  here  another  of  the  peace  club's 
chickens  came  home  to  roost — viz.,  L.  J.  Boggs,  mak 
ing  demonstrations. 

"You  kids  get  out  of  this  woods,"  he  cried,  flour- 

301 


RANNY 

ishing  a  stick.  "Every  last  one  of — of —  Oh,  how 
do,  Mrs.  Thompson?  I  didn't  know  you  was  here 
with  the  boys." 

"We're  having  a  little  meeting  of  our  club,"  said 
the  patroness.  "I'll  see  that  the  boys  do  no  harm." 

L.  J.  Boggs's  collapse  was  almost  pathetic — quite 
as  if  Mrs.  Thompson's  husband's  bank  held  a  mort 
gage  upon  that  very  woods. 

Ranny  now  took  the  center  of  the  stage.  "We 
hav'n't  been  fighting,"  he  said,  "an'  whenever  we 
had  any  trouble  we  put  it  down  in  this  here" — busi 
ness  of  digging  in  pockets — "in  this  here  fight-book. 
An'  now  it's  ten  days  an'  you  said  we  gotta  fight  in 
ten  days.  An'  so  now — it's  ten  days." 

Mrs.  Thompson  did  not  take  the  official  records 
in  her  hands,  but  she  poked  them  as  one  inspecting 
garbage. 

"But  we  don't  have  to  fight  just  because  the  ten 
days  are  up.  We  could  burn  the  book  and  declare 
peace." 

"We — we  couldn't  burn  up  our  secatary's  book," 
Ranny  protested. 

"We'll  make  a  kind  of  ceremony  of  it — like  a  little 
play." 

"No,  ma'am."  Ranny  was  fighting  for  the  work 
of  his  hand  and  brain.  "I  don't  think — " 

What  Ranny  did  not  think  was  not  immediately 
forthcoming,  for  he  beheld  Ted  Blake  trying  to  con- 

302 


DAY   OF    WRATH 


vey  an  idea  by  the  sign  language.  He  was  to  turn 
around  and  look  at  the  lake.  Still  another  peace- 
club  chicken  had  come  home  to  roost. 

This  one  might  more  properly  be  called  a  duck,  for 
it  came  by  water.  Only  a  face  was  visible — a 
scowling  face,  registering  baffled  rage.  "Butch" 
was  evidently  dressed  more  for  pugilism  than  for  the 
society  of  ladies. 

"Well,  all  right,"  said  Ranny.  "I  gotta  be  the 
burner." 

It  took  all  of  the  officers  to  accomplish  the  cere 
mony,  Assistant-Treasurer  Hartman's  part  being 
purely  advisory.  Mrs.  Thompson  made  well-chosen 
remarks  predicting  the  end  of  all  war,  and  closed  by 
pinning  upon  every  chest  present  the  white-and-blue 
button  of  the  cherished  order. 

"I  must  be  going  now,"  she  said.  "Coming, 
Clarence?" 

Ted  took  another  look  at  the  lake.  "Butch" 
was  standing  neck-deep,  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
come  ashore  and  make  people  look  like  chronic 
sufferers. 

"Le's  go  with  Mis'  Thompson  to  the  gate,"  he 
said.  "Fall  in,  ever'body.  Forward,  march!" 

"Butch"  must  have  decided  to  follow  at  a  discreet 
distance,  for  when  Ranny  looked  back  he  beheld  one 
of  the  most  charming  sights  of  a  life  that  had  fallen 
in  pleasant  places.  A  boy  dressed  in  bathing- 

303 


RANNY 

trunks  hastening  toward  the  water,  pursued  by  that 
enraged  land-owner,  L.  J.  Boggs. 

At  the  highway  the  society  parted  from  Mrs. 
Thompson  with  a  salvo  of  cheers.  After  this  sweet 
sorrow  the  Friends  of  Peace  gave  themselves  up 
to  anarchy  and  pleasure.  There  were  four  fights 
— not  official,  but  plain  fights,  quick  to  come  and  go, 
like  summer  showers.  There  was  a  green-apple 
battle  with  certain  East-Warders,  during  which  Ted 
transformed  himself  from  president  to  general,  and 
gave  stern  orders  which  nobody  obeyed.  There  was 
informal  stone- throwing ;  one  game  of  round  ball 
flourishing  in  a  side-street  was  broken  up.  It  was 
late  afternoon  when  the  five  original  members  and 
officers  reached  their  own  neighborhood.  Tom 
Rucker  looked  like  a  friend  of  peace  who  had  been 
left  out  in  the  rain  overnight;  there  was  an  assort 
ment  of  sunburns  and  mosquito-bites  and  a  stone- 
bruise  or  two,  and  upon  the  person  of  "Fatty" 
Hartman  what  promised  to  be  an  amusing  case  of 
poison-ivy.  As  they  limped  down  the  home-stretch 
they  gently  tripped  and  poked  one  another  and 
rubbed  one  another's  heads  with  knuckles  and  felt 
a  kingship  over  all  created  things — full  of  dust 
and  joy  and  oxygen.  Pacifists  returning  from  the 
chase. 

"Le's  have  another  one  nex'  week.  They  won't 
know  the  difference."  By  "they"  Ranny  was  un- 

3°4 


DAY   OF   WRATH 


derstood  to  mean  the  gullible  adult  world  who  took 
the  Friends  of  Peace  at  face  value. 

At  dusk,  amid  the  fiddling  of  the  katydids,  when  the 
world  sat  cooling  itself  on  porches,  and  white-clad 
hatless  girls  strolled  toward  soda-fountains,  and  old 
Mr.  Jennings  wet  down  his  lawn  with  a  garden-hose, 
Ranny  was  not  so  sure.  Father  had  been  giggling 
over  an  item  in  the  Evening  Bulletin.  "Isn't  it  fine 
to  have  him  home  safe  and  sound?"  he  asked  Mother. 
As  was  so  often  the  case,  there  was  no  point  to 
Father's  joke.  For  all  the  paper  had  to  say  was  this : 

A  boys'  organization,  the  Friends  of  Peace,  held  a  picnic  meet 
ing  in  Boggs's  grove  to-day.  All  will  recover. 


A    BABY  S    PLACE 

IT  was  a  beautiful,  unhappy  Saturday  afternoon 
in  September — unhappy  because  it  was  beautiful 
and  Saturday,  and  because  Mother  had  felt  it 
necessary  to  go  out  for  the  afternoon,  leaving  Ranny 
in  charge  of  the  baby.  He  had  been  disarmed  with 
an  apology,  then  roped  and  branded  with  an  exacted 
promise. 

"I  am  sorry  the  meeting  is  on  Saturday,"  Mother 
had  said,  "but  it  was  the  only  time  the  ladies  could 
agree  upon.  You  will  take  good  care  of  her,  won't 
you?" 

Now  the  golden  afternoon  was  slipping  away  and 
tingly  little  breezes  stirred  the  curtains  and  brought 
in  faint  sounds  as  of  human  beings  enjoying  life,  and 
there  he  sat  contorting  his  face  for  a  highly  critical 
bald-headed  row  of  one.  Presently  the  tumult  and 
the  shouting  lost  its  vagueness  and  became  a  yodel, 
high  and  insistent,  a  promissory  note  of  vivid 
recreation. 

306 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


Tom  Rucker,  interviewed  at  the  front  gate  of  the 
Dukes  residence,  spoke  in  part  as  follows: 

"C'm'on  over.  We're  gonta  have  some  fun  in 
our  barn." 

"I  can't,"  Ranny  replied.  "I  gotta  stay  at  home 
an'  take  care  of  the — the  house  an'  ever'thing.  My 
mother's  gone  to  a  meeting." 

"Aw!"  said  Tom  Rucker. 

"You  stay  here,"  Ranny  proposed.  "We  could 
do  somethin'  in  the  back  yard.  An'  if  any  burglars 
would  come — bing!"  His  gesture  clearly  indicated 
burglars  going  up  in  smoke. 

But  burglar-binging,  it  appeared,  was  out  of  the 
question,  because  Tom  had  left  his  barn  to  the  mercy 
of  Ted  Blake,  and  Ted  was  not  one  to  be  trusted  long 
with  a  barn  that  one  cherished. 

"Well,  I  promised  I'd  take  good  care  of  the  baby,'1' 
admitted  Ranny. 

"Where?"  asked  Tom. 

"Huh?" 

"Where  did  you  promise  you'd  take  care  of  the 
baby?" 

"In  the  sitting-room.     Wha's  the  differ'nce?' 

"I  don't  mean  that,  you  crazy."  Tom's  ears  waved 
a  little  as  they  always  did  at  times  of  intellectual 
strain.  "I  mean  like  this.  Did  you  promise  you'd 
take  care  of  'im  right  there  in  the  house  all  the  time?" 

"It's  a  her,"  said  Ranny. 
307 


RANNY 

"Well,  her,  then.  Did  you  promise  you  wouldn't 
take  care  of  'er  along  to  our  barn.  An'  it  could  sit 
on  the  hay  an'  have  fun.  Because  we  ain't  got  a 
horse,  now,  so  nothing  would  step  on  him  or  any 
thing." 

"It's  a  her,"  said  Ranny. 

"Your  mother  wouldn't  care,  an'  you  could  get 
home  before  she  did,  an'  she  wouldn't  know  anything 
about  it.  Them  meetings  always  lasts  about  a 
million  years.  An'  then  they  talk  awhile  afterward. " 

"No,  I  guess—" 

But  Tom  was  on  a  new  train  of  thought  and  would 
not  get  off  for  anybody. 

"They  say,  'Come  an'  see  me,'  an'  then  they 
answer  back:  'Yes,  I  will.  You  come  over.'  Tom 
was  doing  elaborate  bows  now  and  his  voice  was 
dripping  honey.  '"Goo'-by,  Mrs.  Flapdoodle.": 
With  a  cunning  pretense  of  accident,  Tom  backed 
into  a  tree. 

Tom  Rucker,  companionable  at  all  times,  was 
irresistible  when  he  was  in  his  farce-comedy  mood. 
Imagine  anything  more  delicious  than  that  "Mrs. 
Flapdoodle"!  So  Ranny  agreed,  only  stipulating 
that  they  go  by  the  private  alleyway  and  that  they 
carry  the  impediment  upon  the  velocipede  instead  of 
taking  the  baby-carriage. 

Having  locked  the  door  and  put  the  key  where 
Mother  could  easily  find  it  (as  could  any. one  else 

308 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


desiring  a  key)  they  set  off,  the  two  boys  holding 
their  misfortune  upon  the  seat  between  them  and 
pushing  the  vehicle  along,  at  the  same  time  trying 
to  carry  on  an  intelligent  conversation  about  the 
county  fair,  the  poster  advertisements  of  which  had 
appeared  upon  the  bill-boards.  Ranny's  young  sis 
ter,  in  whose  opinion  any  change  was  an  improve 
ment,  took  heartily  to  the  new  system  of  transporta 
tion  and  said  something  that  sounded  like,  "Glee." 

"What 'd  I  tell  you?  It  likes  it."  Tom  had  set 
tled  upon  the  neuter  gender  as  a  workable  com 
promise. 

But  the  alley,  in  the  natural  course,  had  to  cross  a 
street,  and  here,  unhappily,  the  party  encountered 
Bud  Hicks,  an  accomplished  scoffer,  whose  unlovely 
face  registered  astonishment,  then  amusement.  He 
sank  so  low  as  to  tip  his  hat. 

"How  do,  ladies?"  he  said.  "Ain't  it  a  beautiful 
day?" 

"Aw,  what's  the  matter  with  ya?"  demanded 
Tom.  '"Ain't  you  got  no  sense?" 

"My  goodness!  what  a  lovely  child!"  Bud  went  on, 
remorselessly. 

"It's  a — it's  a  trick  rider,"  said  Tom,  desperately. 
"You  know — lady  bareback  rider  an'  ever'thing. 
Jumps  through  hoops." 

"Le's  see  'er  do  it,"  said  Bud. 

Here  Ranny  saw  a  great  light.  "They's  goin'  to 

309 


RANNY 

be  a  county  fair  over  at  Tom's,"  he  said.  "Live 
stock  an'  ever'thing  like  that."  The  idea  was  rapidly 
becoming  a  good  one.  "We  are  goin'  to  give  out 
blue  ribbons." 

"Babies  ain't  live  stock,"  said  Bud. 

"They's  goin'  to  be  all  kinds  of  animals,"  said 
Ranny,  ignoring  the  technical  point. 

"How  much?" 

"How  much  what?" 

"How  much  to  git  in?" 

"A  nickel,"  said  Tom,  hastily. 

"Whew!"  exclaimed  Bud.  "Nobody '11  come. 
Nobody  'd  pay  a  nickel  to  see  babies.  I  wouldn't 
pay  a  nickel  to  see  a  barnful  of  babies.  I  wouldn't 
want  to  see  'em." 

"If  you  bring  a  live  stock,"  said  Tom,  "you  don't 
have  to  pay.  That's  the  way  it  is  at  all  fairs.  They 
have  extra  red  tickets  for  'em.  They  call  'em 
ex — ex — " 

"Exibitter,"  said  Ranny. 

"Exibitter,"  said  Tom. 

"Yeah,  I  know,"  said  Bud— "exibitter." 

At  this  point  the  live  stock,  unaware  of  the  fact 
that  she  had  suddenly  been  changed  from  a  liability 
to  an  asset,  demanded  less  talk  and  more  action. 
Bud  agreed  to  get  his  cat  if  he  could  find  it,  and  to 
tell  "Fatty"  Hartman  about  the  fair. 

At  Tom's  barn,  which  was  still  intact,  they  fore- 

310 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


stalled  criticism  by  announcing  the  exposition.  Ted 
fell  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing  and  went  off  with 
vague  ideas  of  getting  hold  of  something  that  would 
come  under  the  head  of  live  stock.  Meanwhile 
Tom  and  Ranny  busied  themselves  with  boxes  and 
boards  and  the  pioneer  exhibit  amused  herself  by 
getting  in  the  way.  Tom  decided  that  his  own  con 
tribution  would  be  a  cow  named  Nellie.  He  would 
not  bring  his  exhibit  into  the  barn,  but  would  leave 
her  in  the  lot  which  she  now  inhabited,  and  any  one 
needing  to  look  at  her  could  step  over  and  do  so 
without  extra  charge.  For  Nellie's  last  name  was 
not  Rucker;  she  belonged  to  a  neighbor  who  might 
prefer  that  she  be  let  alone. 

The  problem  that  next  presented  itself  was ' '  Fatty  " 
Hartman,  who  had  heard  the  good  news  from  Bud, 
but  who  came  without  either  nickel  or  animal. 

"Are  you  a  exibitter?"  asked  Ranny,  always  will 
ing  to  show  verbal  goods. 

The  word  struck  "Fatty"  as  a  toothsome  one. 
"Exibitter,  exibitter,"  he  said,  with  apparent  relish. 

"A  exibitter — •"  Ranny  started  to  explain,  but 
"Fatty"  felt  an  attack  of  poetry  stealing  over  him. 

"Bitter,  bitter,  exibitter 
Had  a  wife  an'  couldn't  hit  'er." 

Presently  he  set  the  thing  to  music  and  added  a 
ponderous  little  dance,  during  the  course  of  which  he 
21  311 


RANNY 

illegally  entered  the  barn.  Tom  and  Ranny  started 
to  put  him  out  when  a  complication  arose.  It 
seemed  that  the  fascinating  creature  had  danced 
himself  into  the  affections  of  Exhibit  A,  who  was  now 
puckering  up  her  face  in  grief  at  the  parting. 

"He  could  be  the  judge,"  said  Tom. 

"Huh?     They  gotta  be  a  judge?"  asked  Ranny. 

"The  fella  that  gives  out  the  blue  ribbon." 

"No,"  said  Ranny,  frankly,  "he  don't  know 
enough."  A  fresh  outburst  of  sorrow  from  Exhibit 
A.  "Well,  all  right,  I  jes'  as  leave." 

"You  take  care  of  the  live  stock  till  the  show 
opens,"  said  Tom,  waving  toward  Ranny 's  sister. 

"Hello,  live  stock!"  said  "Fatty,"  making  a  gri 
mace  that  was  well  received. 

The  tears  had  plowed  little  furrows  through  the 
barn  dust  upon  the  distressed  maiden's  face,  which 
now  presented  the  appearance  of  an  irrigated  field. 

So  the  two  problems  were  set  to  solving  each 
other  and  progress  had  a  chance  once  more.  But  it 
was  not  for  long,  because  there  presently  approached 
a  hullabaloo  which  resolved  itself  into  Ted  Blake 
trying  to  import  another  infant,  some  unknown 
Exhibit  B,  to  compete  for  blue  ribbons  with  the 
daughter  of  the  house  of  Dukes.  Ted  presented  as 
astonishing  a  sight  as  ever  walked  into  anybody's 
barn.  He  held  the  little  stranger  in  his  arms,  but 
he  was  bent  and  twisted  by  reason  of  a  tightly 

312 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


clutched  ear.  In  fact  he  was  so  complicated  in  ap 
pearance  that  one  could  scarcely  guess  which  way  he 
was  going.  Only  by  causing  unhappiness  could  he 
divest  himself  of  his  exhibit  without  giving  up  a 
cherished  ear.  It  was  "Fatty"  again  who  came  to 
the  rescue. 

"Exibitter,  exibitter,"  he  said,  making  a  splendid 
face.  Thus  he  entangled  himself  in  another  set  of 
heart-strings  and  added  to  his  caretaker's  duties. 

"That's  my  brother,"  announced  Ted  Blake. 

"Didn't  know  you  had  one,"  said  Ranny. 

"I  never  told  anybody,"  Ted  replied,  uneasily. 

Ranny  looked  with  suspicion  upon  this  unsuspected 
baby  Blake.  The  new-comer  was  no  beauty,  but 
neither,  for  that  matter,  was  Ted.  Whereas  Miss 
Dukes's  head  was  shaped  like  an  orange  slightly 
flattened  at  the  poles,  this  baby's  superstructure  was 
narrow  and  high,  tending  slightly  to  resemble  a  lima- 
bean.  Somehow  one  got  the  impression  that  he  had 
not  had  any  supper  lately.  The  more  Ranny 
looked  at  this  baby  the  less  he  was  surprised  that 
Ted  had  never  acknowledged  him  before. 

Presently  Bud  Hicks  arrived,  paid  an  admission 
fee  of  one  cat,  and  entered  the  fair-grounds.  The 
animal  was  deposited  with  the  proper  official,  who 
began  to  complain  of  overwork.  But  the  solution 
of  "Fatty's"  troubles  was  at  hand. 

There  is  a  juvenile  wireless  that  circulates  good 


RANNY 

news  against  all  the  laws  of  nature.  Ranny  once 
walked  down  the  street  of  Lakeville  with  a  basket 
of  candy,  and  before  he  had  gone  three  blocks  he 
enjoyed  the  companionship  of  every  youth  in  the 
Center  Ward  who  was  not  sick  in  bed.  Let  an 
automobile  break  down  in  the  wilderness  and  pres 
ently  there  are  four  boys  giving  themselves  up  to 
pleasure.  Plant  two  babies  down  an  alley  in  a  barn 
and  you  will  have  girls  buzzing  around  the  door. 
Thus  came  Gertie  Riley  and  Josie  Kendal. 

"Five  cents,  please,"  said  Ranny,  who  was  now 
leading  an  idle  life  as  collector  of  nickels. 

The  two  girls  gave  out  nothing  but  giggles. 

"Exibitter?"  Ranny  tried  again. 

"Oh,  isn't  she  sweet?"  cried  Josie.  The  two  girls 
rushed  in  past  the  helpless  doorman  and  snatched 
up  examples  of  live  stock  from  the  environs  of 
"Fatty"  Hartman.  Josie  chose  Exhibit  A  and 
Gertie  Riley  made,  so  Ranny  felt,  the  best  of  a  bad 
bargain  and  cuddled  the  mysterious  stranger.  They 
conversed  with  those  infants  in  the  disgusting  lan 
guage  of  their  kind. 

"They  can  be  holders,"  said  Ranny,  who  could 
think  of  no  way  to  get  the  girls  out  short  of  physical 
force — and  even  that  of  doubtful  issue. 

"All  right,  let  'em  stay,"  said  his  partner,  mag 
nanimously. 

The  same  old  wireless  brought  to  the  door  of  the 
3*4 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


exposition  hall  Mary  Murray,  who  was  admitted 
because  of  her  young  brother  John.  For  John  was 
nothing  if  not  live  stock.  No  longer  a  baby,  he  was 
still  far  below  years  of  discretion;  if  he  could  not 
be  held  in  the  lap,  neither  could  he  be  prevented 
from  ruining  the  seating  arrangements.  Mary  was 
told  again  and  again  to  restrain  her  exhibit,  but 
Mary,  it  seemed,  had  very  little  influence  in  that 
quarter.  John  was  probably  the  poorest  investment 
that  the  management  had  as  yet  made.  Not  even 
"Sausage"  Buckley's  dog,  which  presently  arrived, 
fitted  more  poorly  into  any  kind  of  system  than  did 
young  John  Murray. 

When  Clarence  Raleigh  came  he  did  not  bring  that 
nickel  which  one  might  expect  from  a  boy  whose 
father  was  of  a  generous  and  easy  nature,  but  came 
in  holding  to  the  ears  of  a  rabbit,  an  animal  in 
which  "Sausage"  Buckley's  dog  took  an  interest. 
Rather  than  have  the  two  exhibits  consolidated, 
Clarence  held  his  live  stock  in  his  arms.  He  might 
better  have  paid  his  nickel  and  enjoyed  a  care-free 
afternoon,  for  he  suffered  mental  agony  to  a  value 
approaching  a  quarter. 

At  four  o'clock,  when  Tom  decided  that  it  was 
time  for  official  action,  the  census  of  Rucker's  barn 
and  annex  was  as  follows: 

Human:  Management  2,  other  exibitters  5,  judge 
i,  holders  2. 


RANNY   

Live  stock:  Babies  2,  dog  i,  rabbit  i,  cow  i,  cat  i, 
miscellaneous  (John  Murray)  i. 

General  public  paying  admission  in  coin  of  realm 
and  sitting  quietly  in  seats :  None. 

Tom  opened  the  proceedings  with  a  few  remarks. 

"Ladies  an'  gent 'men.  We  have  chose  for  judge 
of  this  here  grand  exhibition  and  caraval  Mr.  Judge 
Hartman,  the  fam-e-ous  judge,  so  he  will  be  the  judge 
and  do  all  the  judgin'."  Here  Tom's  speech  sud 
denly  lapsed  from  official  to  human.  "Hey,  Josie, 
le's  have  a  little  piece  off  your  hair-ribbon.  Come 
on.  We  gotta  have  some  blue  ribbon." 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  dare!"  Josie  replied,  but  her  tone 
carried  so  little  conviction  that  Tom  went  to  the 
house  and  brought  the  scissors. 

"Here,  let  me  do  it  myself,"  said  Josie.  She 
snipped  off  about  three  inches,  John  Murray  for  the 
moment  well-behaved  with  fascination,  and  gave  it 
to  the  rotund  judge. 

"This  here  baby  is  the  finest  live  stock  here," 
said  Ted,  indicating  his  debutant  brother  sitting 
comfortably  upon  his  holder — both  babies  had  been 
polished  for  exhibition  purposes.  "If  anybody 
says — " 

"Hey,  wait  a  minute!  'Ain't  you  ever  been  to  a 
fair?"  demanded  Tom.  "Now  we  got  to  go  'round 
an'  look  at  ever'thing." 

Ranny  deserted  his  unprofitable  post  at  the  door. 

316 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


"We  gotta  have  order  here,"  he  said.  "That  there 
baby  ain't  either  the  fines'— fines' — " 

There  was  a  darkening  of  the  doorway,  a  rush  of 
air,  a  cry  of  joy  and  relief,  and  a  family  reunion 
taking  place  in  poor  Gertie  Riley's  lap.  If  there 
was  another  darkening  of  the  door  it  was  as  quick 
as  the  shutter  of  a  camera.  The  passing  of  Ted 
Blake  out  of  the  exhibition  and  carnival  was  prac 
tically  instantaneous. 

"Oh,  the  blessed  darling  dumpling !  Oh,  I  was  so 
scared!" 

"Is  it  your  baby,  Mis'  Hight?"  asked  Gertie. 
"Ted  Blake  said  it  was  his  brother." 

"The  idea!"  The  young  mother  squeezed  the  re 
maining  breath  out  of  her  offspring.  It  seemed  that 
a  little  colored  girl  was  taking  care  of  the  baby  and 
Ted  Blake  asked  to  borrow  the  baby  for  a  minute. 
A  pair  of  scared  white  eyes  peeking  into  the  doorway 
were  silent  witnesses  to  the  truth  of  Mrs.  Might's 
explanation.  "Who  stole  this  one?"  she  concluded. 

Ranny's  sister  was  rationally  explained,  but  Mrs. 
Hight  was  still  suffering  from  outrage  and  shock. 
"I'll  see  that  your  mothers  know  about  this,"  she 
said.  "It  might  have  been  gipsies  or  anything." 

"Fatty"  Hartman  here  reached  the  intellectual 
high-water  mark  of  his  career. 

"I'm  the  judge  of  this  here  fair,  Mis'  Hight,"  he 
said,  "an'  I  got  to  give  out  the  blue  ribbon.  I  give 

31? 


RANNY 

out  the  blue  ribbon" — rhetorical  pause  with  prize 
suspended  in  air — "to  that  there  baby.  That  is 
the  fines'  live  stock  here." 

"The  idea!  I  must  say  I  never  heard  of  such 
doings,"  said  Mrs.  Hight,  taking  the  ribbon.  It  was 
clear  that  she  was  gratified  at  finding  so  much  dis 
cernment  in  so  spherical  a  person.  The  audience 
gasped,  but  there  was  no  open  criticism.  Besides, 
while  Mrs.  Hight  was  pinning  the  order  of  merit  upon 
her  child  something  extraordinary  was  happening 
to  "Fatty's"  face.  In  fact,  Judge  Hartman  was 
handing  down  a  colossal  wink. 

There  was  commotion  now  because  Bud  Hicks  had 
relaxed  his  watchfulness  over  his  cat ;  some  assorted 
growling  and  spitting,  an  arched  back,  and  a  rush 
up  the  beam  to  a  rafter  where  Bud's  cat,  high  above 
the  grand  exhibition  and  carnival,  stood  looking  down 
with  hate  upon  "Sausage"  Buckley's  dog.  During 
this  divertissement  Mrs.  Hight,  prize-winning  live 
stock,  and  colored  attendant  departed. 

"Give  us  some  more  ribbon,  Josie,"  said  the  judge. 
"That  don't  count." 

Josie,  seeing  hope  for  her  own  charge,  submitted 
to  another  operation,  to  John  Murray's  delight. 
This,  in  John's  opinion,  was  the  best  thing  in  the 
show. 

"Sausage"  now  spoke  a  word  for  dogs  as  com 
pared  with  mere  infants.  They  had  more  hair  and 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


more  feet;  they  were  "fightier,"  he  said,  and  could 
chase  things.  He  indicated  Bud's  exhibit  aloft. 

"Yeah,"  said  Bud.  "I  s'pose  they  can  climb 
better  'n  a  cat.  Le's  see  it  climb  a  little." 

"C'm'on  out,  ever'body,  an'  see  the  finest  and 
biggest  live  stock  here."  Tom  suddenly  decided  to 
make  a  mystery  of  it.  "This  will  be  a  great  sup- 
prise  an'  ever'body  will  be  supprised.  Step  this  way, 
Josie,  and  get  supprised." 

"I'm  afraid  of  cows,"  said  Josie. 

"Aw,  listen  to  that,  would  you?"  Tom  appealed 
to  the  superior  male.  "Cows  wouldn't  hurt  nobody. 
I'd  jes'  as  leave  bring  a  cow  right  here  in  this  here 
barn." 

The  now  childless  Gertie  elected  to  stay  with 
Josie  Kendal;  Mary  Murray  had  to  go  and  get 
surprised  on  account  of  John,  and  the  dog  went 
because  of  the  rabbit.  To  enjoy  the  sight  of  Nellie 
one  had  only  to  go  down  the  alley  a  little  way, 
crawl  through  a  hole  in  a  fence  into  a  back  yard,  cross 
this,  and  climb  a  board-pile.  There  stood  Nellie! 

Tom  tried  to  create  the  illusion  that  this  was  the 
first  cow  that  had  ever  been  captured  alive. 

"It's  the  biggest  live  stock  in  the  whole  fair,"  he 
added.  "It's  got  horns.  Babies  'ain't  got  horns — 
have  they,  Ranny?  Answer  me  that." 

Ranny,  thus  cornered,  nervously  admitted  that 
babies  did  not  have  horns. 


RANNY _ 

"My  uncle's  got  a  better  cow  than  that,"  said 
Bud.  "It's  much  more  whiter." 

"I  betcha  he  'ain't.     I  betcha  a  million  dollars." 

Bud  clouded  up  and  rained  a  few  blows  upon 
Tom's  chest  and  Tom  replied  cleverly  by  kicking 
Bud  upon  the  shin.  It  is  a  painful  fact  that  a  grand 
exhibition  and  carnival  had  to  sit  down  and  wait 
while  two  boys  had  a  fight  over  the  whiteness  of  the 
cows  of  Tom's  neighbor  and  Bud's  uncle. 

Now  there  came  that  curious  moment,  not  un 
common,  when  each  contestant  suddenly  became 
afraid  of  the  other.  In  the  resulting  lull,  the  calm 
and  judicial  "Fatty"  ruled  that  Bud's  uncle's  cow 
had  no  standing,  that  Tom's  cow  could  not  take 
a  prize  in  the  fair  because  it  wasn't  Tom's  cow  and 
wasn't  in  the  fair,  that  he  did  not  care  much  for 
cows,  and  that,  anyhow,  he  could  not  remember 
what  he  did  with  the  new  blue  ribbon.  He  went 
through  his  pockets  upon  another  hopeless  quest. 

' '  Le's  go  back.     Mebbe  I  dropped  it  somewheres." 

"Well,"  said  Ranny,  "I  guess  Josie  would  give  us 
another  piece." 

Back  in  the  barn  they  met  calamity.  Josie  was 
not  there ;  neither  was  Gertie ;  neither — here  Ranny 's 
reason  tottered  upon  its  throne — was  Exhibit  A, 
the  nucleus  of  the  fair,  his  charge  to  keep,  the  object 
of  his  solemn  pledge,  that  perennial  nuisance  and 
delight,  his  baby  sister. 

320 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


"Wha — where'd  they  go?"  he  asked. 

Tom  did  his  poor  best;  he  searched  the  barn,  sus 
pecting  a  practical  joke;  he  asked  his  mother,  but 
she  had  not  seen  the  girls  depart — had,  in  fact,  not 
known  that  it  was  ladies'  day  in  their  barn. 

"What  'd  that  woman  say  about  gipsies?"  asked 
Bud  Hicks,  with  rare  tact. 

"Aw,  keep  still,  can't  you?"  said  Ranny,  miser 
ably.  "They  prob'ly  took  'er  home." 

"Well,  look  at  that,  would  you?"  said  "Fatty," 
indicating  the  miscellaneous  John  Murray  upon  the 
floor. 

John  had  found  the  missing  ribbon,  also  the  fas 
cinating  scissors.  He  was  awarding  the  premium 
to  himself  on  the  instalment  plan.  One  small  piece 
remained  in  his  hand,  and  it  was  clear  that  John 
was  about  to  clip  this  in  two,  parting  with  an  un 
necessary  ringer  and  thumb.  What  had  become  of 
the  rest  was  obvious;  for  the  colors  of  Josie's  hair- 
ribbon  had  not  stood  the  test.  John's  chin  was  blue, 
so,  also,  were  his  lips  and,  as  far  as  human  knowledge 
went,  his  alimentary  canal.  There  was  no  appeal 
from  John's  decision.  He  was  the  livest  of  all  pos 
sible  live  stock.  As  Ranny  hurried  away  the  last 
view  he  had  of  the  fair  was  of  Mary  Murray  running 
an  unappreciated  finger  around  in  John's  mouth  and 
slapping  from  time  to  time  that  all  too  gaudy  face. 

Ranny  hurried  homeward,  alternately  fearing  gip- 
321 


^ RANNY ^ 

sies,  hating  girls,  fearing  parents,  and  hating  himself. 
When  he  reached  home  he  found  a  situation  that  was 
exactly  the  opposite  of  that  which  he  had  hoped. 
Mother  was  at  home  and  sister  was  not — Mother, 
in  fact,  was  out  in  the  front  yard,  indicating  parental 
anxiety. 

"Where  is  she?"  she  cried.  "What  has  happened 
to  her?" 

"Who?  Oh,  the  baby?  W'y,  Josie  Kendal's  got 
'er." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"Who,  Josie?  W'y— she's  with  Gertie  Riley.  You 
see,  they  was  a  fair  and  caraval  over  at  Tom's 
barn — "  Ranny  saw  a  look  upon  Mother's  face 
that  was  quite  unlike  anything  he  had  ever  seen 
there  before.  It  told  him  that  this  was  no  time  to 
talk  of  fairs  and  carnivals.  "Wait  a  minute;  I'll 
get  'er!"  he  cried,  and  was  off  down  the  path.  And 
though  he  ran  short  of  breath  and  had  a  pain  in  his 
side  and  was  hot  all  over,  he  did  not  stop  (except  to 
spit  on  a  stone  as  a  cure  for  side-ache)  until  he  was 
at  the  door  of  Josie  Kendal's  home.  It  was  Mrs. 
Kendal  herself  who  answered  Ranny's  breathless 
query. 

"Why,  no,  Ranny.  Josie  isn't  at  home  yet."  A 
look  of  fright  came  into  her  face.  "What  is  the 
matter?  Has  anything  happened  to  Josie?" 

"Oh,  nuthin'.     I  jes'  wondered,"  said  Ranny. 
322 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


Ignoring  Mrs.  Kendal's  distracted  calls,  he  now 
puffed  and  panted  his  way  to  the  house  of  Gertie 
Riley.  Gertie  was  not  at  home,  either.  Ranny 
stayed  only  long  enough  to  give  Mrs.  Riley  the  im 
pression  that  she  would  never  see  her  darling  any 
more  and  hurried  away.  He  went  just  as  fast  as 
ever,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had  no  place  to  go ; 
he  could  not  think  of  any  other  households  to 
devastate.  He  looked  upon  porches,  into  yards  and 
alleys;  he  followed  the  cries  of  babies,  only  to  find 
them  alien  and  inferior  infants.  Finally,  with  night 
coming  on,  he  dragged  his  reluctant  feet  homeward. 

And  what  a  home-coming  it  was !  Father  sat  upon 
the  front  porch  with  the  evening  paper  in  his  lap — • 
no,  it  was  not  the  evening  paper.  It  was  something 
dear  and  desirable,  something  that  he  wanted  to 
wrap  his  arms  around  and  hold  for  one  million  years. 

"Well,  I  see  she  got  back  all — aw-w — "  The 
thing  started  in  a  natural  and  conversational  tone, 
but  it  ended  in  a  wail.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well; 
for  Father's  mouth  relaxed  at  this  outburst  of  relief. 

"Sit  down,  Randolph,"  he  said.  "Mother's  tele 
phoning.  We'll  go  in  soon." 

Through  the  open  door  Ranny  could  hear  snatches 
of  conversation:  "No,  it  wasn't  Josie's  fault.  She 
said  Tom  Rucker  threatened  to  bring  in  a  cow  and 
she  was  afraid.  .  .  .  They  stopped  to  show  her  to 
some  girl  friend,  .  .  .  Yes,  I  suppose  they  stayed 

323 


RANNY 

longer  than  they  intended.  .  .  .  Well,  it's  all  right 
now,  Mrs.  Kendal.  .  .  .  No,  don't  feel  that  way. 
It  was  Ranny's  fault  entirely." 

There  was  a  tinkle  and  then  another  talk  in  which 
Mrs.  Riley  was  assured  that  it  was  not  Gertie's  fault, 
but  Ranny's  entirely,  that  possibly  the  girls  stayed  a 
little  longer  than  they  intended.  This  conversation 
seemed  to  take  a  zoological  turn.  "They  are  queer 
creatures,"  said  Mother.  "One  never  knows  what 
they  will  do  next." 

The  scene  there  in  the  Dukes  sitting-room  in  the 
September  dusk  was  less  violent  than  Ranny  might 
have  imagined,  but  even  more  distressing.  It  was 
made  clear  that  Ranny  had  broken  all  the  rules  of 
human  conduct.  A  sister  was  the  most  beautiful 
thing  in  nature  and  he  had  let  his  lie  around  like  an 
old  hat.  It  was  to  be  understood  now  and  forever 
that  a  baby's  place  was  in  the  home.  When  they 
had  finished  picking  his  character  to  pieces  they 
decreed  in  the  time-honored  way  that  what  he 
needed  now  was  not  food,  but  sleep — although  the 
contrary  was  true. 

Before  the  sentence  could  be  put  into  effect  the 
telephone  rang  again. 

"I  think  it's  Mrs.  Kendal's  turn,"  said  Father. 

But  in  a  moment  it  was  obvious  that  this  was 
neither  of  these  distracted  parents.  Mother  was 
saying : 

324 


A    BABY'S    PLACE 


"Oh,  how  do  you  do?  ...  Why,  pretty  well.  .  .  . 
That's  awfully  nice  of  you.  Of  course  we  think  she's 
lovely.  How's  your  baby,  Mrs.  Hight?" 

At  the  mention  of  the  name  Ranny  froze  fast  to 
his  chair.  All  he  could  hear  was  a  series  of  noises 
sounding,  even  in  this  hour  of  trial,  like  the  quacking 
of  a  duck  and  an  occasional  "yes"  from  Mother. 
No  doubt  the  whole  affair  was  coming  out  now. 
Presently  he  would  be  blamed  for  the  kidnapping 
activities  of  Ted  Blake.  At  last  Mother  got  a 
chance  to  put  in  a  word.  "Well,  I  don't  know, 
Mrs.  Hight.  It  sounds  like  a  good  idea.  I'll  talk 
it  over  with  Mr.  Dukes  and  let  you  know.  Yes.  .  .  . 
Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  Yes,  hasn't  it  been  beautiful? 
.  .  .  Good-by." 

"That  Mrs.  Hight,"  said  Mother— "I  think  her 
husband  is  a  traveling-man,  isn't  he?  Well,  she's 
planning  to  get  up  a  baby-show.  Wants  to  know 
whether  we  will  come  in."  Mother  added,  with  an 
apologetic  laugh,  "I  suppose  she  thinks  her  baby 
will  get  the  prize." 

Father  gave  his  burden  an  extra  squeeze.  "There 
won't  be  anything  there  that  is  finer  than  this,"  he 
said.  A  ray  of  amusement  crossed  hfe  face;  Mother 
caught  it,  too;  they  smiled  together.  "I  suppose 
we  might  let  this  fellow  have  his  supper,"  said 
Father. 

"Yes,  if  you  think  best,"  Mother  answered. 
325 


( RANNY 

After  supper,  when  the  dishes  and  the  baby  had 
been  washed  and  put  away  and  Ranny's  reprieve 
was  over  and  Father  and  Mother  had  come  in  for  a 
last  good  night,  Ranny  put  the  seal  of  his  approval 
upon  the  institution  of  the  home  and  came  per 
ilously  near  an  outburst  of  sentiment. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  we're  all  here,  all  right,"  said 
Randolph  Harrington  Dukes. 


THE   END 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 

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3EC  1 6 


g 


Form  L-9-10m-5,'28 


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A     000917249     5 


"5503 


HWVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 

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